o  I 


E-UNIVERS/A      .vios-ANCEifj> 

• 


LlfTi  SUIT 


LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 


REV.    SYLVESTER   JUDD 


BOSTON: 
D.     C.     COLESWORTHY. 

1857. 


9969 


WHOSE    FATHER   WAS    TRANSLATED    FROM   THEIR   HOME 
BEFORE    THEY    WERE    OLD  ENOUGH   TO   KNOW  AND    COMPREHEND  HIM, 


IS    TENDERLY    AND    MOST    LOTINGLY 


SettcateH. 


' 


Is  the  composition  of  this  work,  the  design  has  been  to 
make  it,  as  far  as  possible,  an  antoKoyrafky.  Hot  onl j 
the  existence  of  abundant  material  for  this  purpose,  but 
ftft  desire  that  Mr.  Judd  should  be  made  the  exponent 
of  himself,  led  to  die  adoption  of  this  count. 

In  mating  selections  from  sermons,  lectures,  letters, 
and  private  pages,  that  would  fifl  volumes,  such  hare 
been  chosen  as  were  thought  oest  fitted,  by  their  playful 
touches  and  varied  fights,  to  present  him  as  he  was,  going 
in  and  out  in  daily  life ;  to  delineate  in  their  true  shades 
the  multiform  and  shifting  phases  of  his  character,  both 
as  to  individual  prominence  and  collective  harmony;  to 
wiMhit  the  governing  principle  of  his  being,  in  all  rela 
tions,  public  and  private ;  and,  especially,  to  show  how  an 
earnest  seeker  after  truth  and  right  aped  on  his  way, 
and  with  what  persevering  self-reliance  and  brave  con- 
scientiousness  the  battle  of  fife  may  be  fought 

If,  with  this  intention,  the  extracts  given  shall  be 
deemed  too  ample,  the  explanation  must  be  found  in  the 
perhaps  partial  feeling  of  one  who  has  watched  with  fond 


VI 


interest  his  every  variety  of  development,  from  the  first 
opening  of  his  eyes  in  infancy  to  their  final  close  on 
earthly  light, —  that  the  rich  mass  of  manuscript  matter 
left  behind  was  too  good  to  be  lost. 

The  life  of  Mr.  Judd  consisted  rather  in  inward  pro 
gressions  than  in  outward  changes,  and  of  course  furnishes 
little  variety  as  a  story  of  incident.  But,  to  those  who 
feel  that  a  range  at  large  in  the  field  of  thought  is  of 
greater  worth  than  a  transition  from  one  physical  locality 
to  another,  that  high  and  noble  principles  are  more 
honorable  than  conspicuous  stations,  and  that  wealth  of 
soul  far  outweighs  the  richest  material  products,  it  will 
not  be  found  wanting  in  interest  and  attractiveness. 

Those  who  have  known  Mr.  Judd  only  as  an  author 
will  readily  perceive,  that  this  was  by  no  means  the  most 
distinctive  form  in  which  he  put  forth  his  powers ;  but 
that  the  author  was  lost  in  the  man,  at  the  same  time,  as 
has  been  truly  remarked  by  another,  that  "  the  author 
was  intensely  the  expression  of  the  man." 

As  to  the  plan  chosen,  it  was  found  quite  impracticable 
to  introduce,  with  that  prominence  which  seemed  their 
due,  the  important  details  of  his  general  views  and  modes 
of  action  into  the  current  history  of  his  life,  without  get 
ting  bewildered  in  mazy,  labyrinthian  episodes,  the  grace 
ful  escape  from  which  would  have  been  difficult  to  the 
writer,  and  the  impression  produced  upon  the  reader  con 
fused  and  unsatisfactory.  Should  it  seem  that  by  this 
method  something  of  repetition  occurs,  or  that  any  thing 
is  lost  as  to  the  general  unity  and  harmonious  blending  of 
the  whole,  it  is  believed  that  amends  will  more  than  be 


Vll 


found  in  the  increased  clearness  secured,  and  the  greater 
justice  done  to  salient  points. 

The  compiler  —  for  to  authorship  there  is  little  ground 
of  claim  —  has  not  aimed  to  pronounce  an  eulogium  on 
the  subject  of  this  history,  or  to  enter  into  any  analysis  or 
critical  review  of  his  literary  productions.  She  has  sought 
only,  in  a  simple,  truthful  manner,  to  sketch  a  life  and 
character,  which  —  with  a  most  intimate  knowledge  of  the 
one,  and  a  perfect  understanding  of  the  idiosyncracies  of 
the  other  —  have  impressed  upon  her  own  heart  the 
deepest  love,  the  most  profound  reverence;  and  the  pre 
paration  of  which,  by  leading  her  to  live  over  again  the 
past  in  intimate  communion,  has  served,  in  some  degree, 
to  beguile  the  deep  feeling  of  loss  occasioned  by  the  tem 
porary  interruption  of  sensible  communication. 

ARETHUSA  HALL. 

BEOOKLTX,  N.  Y.,  July  4,  1854. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I.  PAGE 

PARENTAGE  AND  CHILDHOOD .         1 

CHAPTER  II. 
BOYHOOD  AND  YOUTH 15 

CHAPTER  III. 
PREPARATION  FOR  COLLEGE  AND  COLLEGE  LIFE     ....       28 

CHAPTER  IV. 
CHANGE  IN  THEOLOGICAL  VIEWS 70 

CHAPTER  V. 
LIFE  AT  THE  DIVINITY  SCHOOL 106 

• 
CHAPTER   VI. 

SETTLEMENT  AND  RESIDENCE  AT  AUGUSTA  ,    .    .     173 


x  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VII.  PACK 

RELATION  TO  THE  MINISTRY 254 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
RELATION  TO  PROGRESS  AND  REFORMS 292 

CHAPTER  IX. 
As  AN  AUTHOR 340 

CHAPTER  X. 
As  A  LECTURER 409 

CHAPTER  XI. 
HABITS  OP  STUDY 436 

CHAPTER  XII. 
TEMPERAMENT  AND  GENERAL  CHARACTERISTICS       ....     446 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
DOMESTIC  RELATIONS 467 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
DEPARTURE  FROM  EARTH 511 


LIFE  AND   CHARACTER. 


LIFE  AND  CHARACTER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PARENTAGE  AND  CHILDHOOD. 


WESTHAMPTON. 

SYLVESTER  JUDD,  the  third  of  that  name,  was  born 
in  Westhampton,  Mass.,  July  23,  1813.  This  is  a 
small  town  in  Hampshire  County,  about  ten  miles 
west  of  Connecticut  River,  and  one  of  the  four  desig 
nated,  according  to  the  principal  points  of  compass, 
by  the  name  of  Hampton.  There  is  no  part  of  it 
that  can  very  well  aspire  to  the  appellation  of  vil 
lage  ;  although  its  one  church,  one  or  two  stores,  and 
a  few  dwelling-houses,  sparsely  clustered  around, 
form  a  point  of  general  centralization.  It  is  strictly 
an  agricultural  town,  and  its  inhabitants  are  mostly 
farmers.  The  surface  of  its  ground  is  very  much 
broken,  and  diversified  with  abrupt,  rocky  hills, 
covered  with  a  variety  of  forest-trees,  thus  forming 
much  beautiful  scenery  of  richly  wooded  hill  and 
shady  dell,  varied  here  and  there  with  green  pastures 
and  cultivated  fields,  in  the  midst  of  which  stand 

1 


2  PARENTAGE    AND    CHILDHOOD. 

the  owner's  residence  and  its  appendages,  expressive 
of  neatness  and  taste,  industry,  good  calculation, 
and  thrift,  or  otherwise,  as  the  case  may  be.  The 
soil  in  general  is  poor,  rather  penuriously  rewarding 
the  toil  of  the  husbandman.  Many  of  the  young 
men  go  abroad  to  seek  their  fortune ;  and,  in  some 
instances,  roads  from  one  part  of  the  town  to  another, 
once  well  travelled,  are  now  closed,  and  whole  farms 
given  up  to  pasturage. 

The  inhabitants  are,  in  general,  industrious  and 
frugal  in  their  habits ;  and  many  of  them  have,  by 
prudence  and  economy,  amassed  what  in  such  small 
country  towns  are  considered  very  comfortable  little 
fortunes.  They  are,  in  the  main,  moral  in  their  cha 
racters,  regular  church-goers  on  the  sabbath,  and  a 
good  degree  of  religious  feeling  prevails  among  them. 

Among  the  first  settlers  of  the  place,  about  the 
time  of  our  National  Revolution,  were  several  heads 
of  families,  well  educated  and  refined  for  those  days, 
and,  if  not  of  the  highest  order  of  old-school  gen 
tility,  certainly  well  nigh  approaching  it. 

First  and  foremost  among  these,  and,  —  in  the 
good  old-fashioned  times  when  reverence  for  age  and 
station  had  not  become  an  obsolete  virtue,  —  looked 
up  to  by  all  the  young,  as  well  as  their  seniors,  with 
great  deference,  was  the  minister,  the  Rev.  Enoch 
Hale,  the  first,  and,  in  those  more  stable  days,  for  half 
a  century  the  only  pastor  of  the  church.  His  wife 
was  a  kind-hearted,  motherly  woman,  lady-like  in 
manners,  and  exercising  a  good  deal  of  taste  in  per 
sonal  appearance  and  household  arrangements.  The 
influence  of  the  good  parson  and  his  lady  on  the 


PARENTAGE    AND    CHILDHOOD.  8 

society  of  the  settlement,  in  its  nascent  state,  was  by 
no  means  small,  and  its  favorable  effects  have  been 
traceable  ever  since.  All  of  their  own  large  family 
of  sons  and  daughters  received  a  good  degree  of  gen 
eral  culture.  Two  of  the  sons,  Hon.  Nathan  Hale, 
long  and  well  known  as  the  able  editor  of  the  "  Bos 
ton  Daily  Advertiser,"  and  the  late  Dr.  Enoch  Hale, 
of  Boston,  a  highly  respectable  physician,  were  edu 
cated  for  the  liberal  professions. 

Dr.  Hooker,  son  of  the  Rev.  John  Hooker,  of 
Northampton,  for  many  years  the  only  physician  of 
Westhampton,  and  now  sustaining  a  beautiful  green 
old  age  of  almost  ninety  years,  must  be  mentioned  as 
the  head  of  another  influential  family. 

Many  other  worthy  names  might  be  noticed,  were 
this  the  place.  The  temptation  is  strong  to  linger  a 
little  upon  this  retired  rural  retreat,  and  its  quiet, 
friendly  people.  But  it  must  suffice  to  add,  that, 
under  the  early  impetus  given  to  the  general  tone  of 
things,  the  mass  of  the  succeeding  generations  grew 
up  with  a  very  good  appreciation  of  learning  and  in 
telligence,  and,  if  not  with  high  refinement,  at  least 
with  an  entire  absence  of  vulgarity.  Private  schools 
of  a  high  order  have  been  sustained  from  time  to 
time  |  and,  according  to  its  population,  the  town  has 
furnished  our  colleges  with  a  large  number  of  stu 
dents,  who  in  due  time  have  held  honorable  places 
in  the  learned  professions. 

THE    PATERNAL    GRANDFATHER. 

Holding  a  prominent  place  among  the  first  settlers 
of  Westhampton,  was  Sylvester  Judd,  senior,  the 


41 

4  PARENTAGE    AND    CHILDHOOD., 

paternal  grandfather  of  the  subject  of  this  history. 
He  was  a  son  of  the  Rev.  Jonathan  Judd,  of  South 
ampton,  the  first  clergyman  of  that  place,  and  for 
sixty  years  pastor  over  the  same  people.  Like  all 
clergymen's  sons  of  that  day,  he  enjoyed  better  op 
portunities  for  education  and  general  development 
than  were  usual.  In  due  course  of  time,  he  began 
to  clear  and  improve  some  wild  land,  purchased  by 
his  father  in  a  part  of  the  township  near  the  borders 
of  Southampton;  he  erected  a  dwelling-house;  he 
married  a  wife  having  peculiarities  which  are  often 
termed  odd,  and  which  left  their  impress  in  some  de 
gree  on  the  son  and  grandson  with  whom  this  narra 
tive  has  to  do ;  and,  while  yet  a  British  subject,  set 
up  for  himself.  Bears  were  often  heard  in  the  corn 
field  near  by ;  and  the  young  mother  shuddered  for 
fear  in  the  absence  of  her  husband,  and  took  care  to 
secure  her  children  safely  within  doors. 

This  pioneer  in  a  then  new  country  sympathized 
fully  in  the  interests  of  the  Revolution,  but  did  not 
engage  in  active  service  farther  than  in  buying  and 
forwarding  provisions  for  the  army,  or  something  of 
that  sort.  He  was  one  of  the  members  of  the  first 
Convention  for  framing  a  Constitution  for  Massachu 
setts  in  1779. 

Though  large  and  stately  in  person,  he  was  a  man 
of  very  little  physical  strength,  and  never  applied  his 
own  hands  much  to  labor.  He  was  the  careful  over 
seer  of  his  business  and  hired  men,  and  engaged 
pretty  largely  in  buying  and  selling  cattle,  sheep, 
swine,  and  so  forth,  for  market.  Success  attended 
his  efforts ;  and  in  a  short  time  we  find  him,  in  part- 


PARENTAGE    AND    CHILDHOOD.  5 

nership  with  Dr.  Hooker  before  mentioned,  the  joint 
proprietor  of  a  store  in  the  centre  of  Westhampton, 
and  afterwards  of  one  also  in  the  adjoining  town  of 
Norwich.  He  possessed  a  good  deal  of  shrewdness 
in  turning  a  shilling  to  a  pound,  a  trait  for  which  the 
immediate  inheritors  of  his  name  were  not  particular 
ly  distinguished.  A  little  extra  capital  soon  enabled 
him  to  put  up  an  addition  to  his  house,  making  it  a 
square,  hip-roofed  mansion,  commodious,  and,  in  those 
days,  rather  imposing.  Large  trees  stood  in  the  am 
ple  yard  around ;  and  the  whole  place  had  a  pleasant, 
inviting  aspect,  suggestive  of  circumstances  quite 
above  board. 

He  was  the  first  Justice  of  the  Peace  of  the  town, 
and,  in  those  days  when  titles  were  less  common  and 
more  distinguishing  than  now,  was  always  known 
as  'Squire  Judd.  For  many  years  he  represented 
"Westhampton  in  the  General  Court  at  Boston,  and 
served  often  on  committees  for  laying  out  roads,  and 
in  other  like  capacities.  He  was  a  man  of  firm  in 
tegrity  and  deep  religious  principle.  A  good  deal  of 
the  old-school  gentleman,  he  was  deferential  to  the 
minister,  courteous  to  woman,  and,  as  known  in  his 
later  years,  a  merry-hearted  old  man,  good  company 
for  the  young  as  well  as  the  old. 

As  his  children,  one  after  another,  established 
households  of  their  own,  the  old  family  mansion  was 
the  favorite  place  of  resort  and  re-union.  Thanks 
giving  was  the  great  holiday  festival  of  the  year. 
On  this  day,  all  the  children  with  husbands  and 
wives,  and  grandchildren  great  and  small,  gathered 
around  the  paternal  board.  Great  indeed  was  the 

1* 


6  PARENTAGE   AND    CHILDHOOD. 

good  cheer.  Every  thing  which  the  farm  or  the 
store  afforded  was  laid  under  contribution.  The  fes 
tivity  was  prefaced  with  a  rich  mug  of  flip,  and  gen 
uine  New  England  cider  formed  the  beverage  of  the 
meal.  It  seemed  to  be  almost  a  conscientious  princi 
ple  with  some  to  make  on  this  day  a  thankoffering 
upon  the  festal  board  of  every  article  of  food  with 
which  the  God  of  harvests  had  blessed  their  store. 

When  the  long-continued  repast  was  over,  the 
large  old  family  Bible  was  brought  forward.  Its 
leaves 

"  The  sire  turns  o'er,  wi'  patriarchal  grace," 

and  then,  in  sonorous  voice, 

"  The  saint,  the  father,  and  the  husband  prays." 

If  more  space  than  seems  appropriate  is  given  to 
these  delineations,  the  apology  must  be  found  partly 
in  the  desire  to  perpetuate  a  knowledge  of  the  good 
old  New  England  character,  habits,  and  homes,  which 
is  so  fast  being  lost  in  the  impermanence  and  rail 
road  whirl  of  the  present  day,  and  partly  in  the  re 
flection  from  the  mind  and  writings  of  the  younger 
Sylvester  Judd  of  that  love  of  nature  and  primitive 
simplicity  which  were  in  a  measure  induced  by  these 
very  scenes. 

THE    PARENTS. 

Sylvester  Judd,  the  second,  at  the  age  of  thirteen, 
and  having  enjoyed  only  such  means  of  education  as 
the  common  school  then  furnished,  was  placed  as  a 
clerk  in  his  father's  store.  After  remaining  in  that 


PARENTAGE    AND    CHILDHOOD.  7 

employment  about  two  years,  weary  of  its  confine 
ment,  and  with,  true  boyish  restlessness  and  desire  to 
see  something  of  the  world,  for  about  six  months  he 
took  up  his  abode  in  Boston.  A  part  of  this  time 
he  served  as  clerk  in  a  store.  Fortunately,  at  his 
boarding  place,  he  fell  in  with  some  persons  of  intel 
ligence,  whose  influence  was  to  stimulate  his  own 
mind  to  an  appreciation  of  knowledge  and  a  deter 
mination  for  its  attainment.  At  length,  satisfied  with 
his  experiment,  he  was  quite  willing  to  return  to  his 
former  station  in  Westhampton. 

But  a  new  life  was  begun.  The  great  object  now 
was  mental  progress.  Whatever  spare  money  he 
could  get  was  invested  in  books,  and  all  the  leisure 
moments  intervening  between  the  calls  of  customers 
were  devoted  to  their  perusal.  Yet  these  ill  sufficed 
to  gratify  the  thirst  for  knowledge  that  had  now 
sprung  up  in  his  mind.  There  was  no  other  way 
but  to  encroach  upon  the  hours  due  to  sleep  ;  and  for 
many  successive  years  it  was  a  common  thing  for  the 
young  man  to  sit  up  until  twelve,  one,  and  two  o'clock, 
poring  over  his  books.  For  about  six  weeks  only,  he 
received  some  aid  in  his  studies  from  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Hale,  who  at  that  time  was  in  the  habit  of  taking 
young  men  into  his  family,  and  fitting  them  for  col 
lege,  or  otherwise  attending  to  their  education.  But 
with  this  slight  assistance,  and  under  all  the  hin 
drances  he  had  to  encounter,  he  mastered  the  Latin 
language  sufficiently  to  read  Virgil,  progressed  far 
enough  in  Greek  to  understand  the  New  Testament 
in  the  original,  obtained  a  very  thorough  knowledge 
of  French  as  a  written  language,  and  gained  some 


8  PARENTAGE    AND    CHILDHOOD. 

considerable  acquaintance  with  Spanish.  He  went 
through  a  full  course  of  the  higher  mathematics, 
penetrated  deeply  into  history  and  political  econo 
my,  and  made  himself  quite  extensively  acquainted 
with  polite  literature,  —  a  noble  example  of  the  prac 
ticability  and  value  of  self-teaching. 

Soon  after  he  had  attained  the  age  of  twenty-one, 
the  senior  partners  retired.  A  new  firm  was  estab 
lished  by  their  sons,  whose  places  of  business  were 
respectively  Northampton,  Norwich,  and  Westhamp- 
ton ;  the  younger  Mr.  Judd  remaining  at  the  latter 
place. 

About  this  time,  he  was  married  to  Miss  Apphia 
Hall,  daughter  of  Aaron  Hall,  of  Norwich,  a  young 
lady  of  much  native  sensibility  and  refinement,  and 
of  high  appreciation  of  general  culture. 

THE   MATERNAL   GRANDFATHER. 

Her  father,  at  the  time  the  Eevolutionary  War  be 
gan,  was  in  his  Freshman  year  at  Harvard  College. 
But  the  college  was  broken  up,  its  members  scattered, 
and  this  young  student  was  forced  to  exchange  the 
quiet  halls  of  Cambridge  for  a  life  in  camps.  He 
was  in  the  service,  the  greater  part  of  the  time  act 
ing  as  officer's  clerk,  until  the  close  of  the  war.  And 
in  after-days,  in  a  good  old  age,  it  was  his  delight 
to  repeat  again  and  again  stories  of  those  times  that 
tried  men's  souls  to  the  listening  ears  of  wondering 
grandchildren.  His  early  pursuits  left  a  fondness 
for  information,  and  till  his  latest  days  he  was  much 
given  to  general  reading.  From  the  great  deprecia- 


PARENTAGE    AND    CHILDHOOD.  9 

tion  of  the  paper  currency  with  which  the  soldiers 
of  the  Revolution  were  paid,  he  realized  nothing  of 
consequence  for  his  long  services  and  the  disappoint 
ment  of  his  early  hopes  and  prospects.  After  follow 
ing  the  profession  of  a  schoolmaster  for  many  years, 
he  finally,  with  limited  means,  entered  upon  a  farmer's 
life  in  the  town  of  Norwich,  then  in  its  early  settle 
ment.  His  small,  poor  farm  never  afforded  him  any 
thing  more  than  a  bare  living.  He  was  a  man  highly 
respected  and  influential  in  the  town.  As  Justice  of 
the  Peace,  he  always  bore  the  appellation  of  'Squire 
Hall,  and  for  years  served  as  representative  of  the 
town  in  the  General  Court.  He  was  a  man  of  high- 
toned  honesty,  of  great  conscientiousness,  and  of 
strongly  developed  sense  of  justice. 

HOME    AND    CHILDHOOD    OF    THE    BOY. 

In  a  few  years  after  his  marriage,  the  young  coun 
try  trader  built 'for  himself  a  commodious  house, 
opposite  his  little  store,  and  near  the  meeting-house. 
He  planted  an  orchard,  and  took  pains  to  engraft  fine 
fruit ;  and,  a  thing  never  done  in  the  town  before,  set 
out  in  the  yard  around  his  house  shade-trees,  and 
sent  to  a  distance  for  shrubbery,  flowering  plants, 
and  vines. 

Though  born  in  a  house  a  few  rods  distant,  here 
the  third  Sylvester  Judd,  whose  life  and  character  it 
is  the  particular  aim  of  these  pages  to  delineate,  had 
his  home  during  his  child-life.  Here  was  a  portion 
of  the  face  of  nature  with  which  he  first  became 
familiar ;  and  here  did  he  receive  his  first  impressions 


10  PARENTAGE    AND    CHILDHOOD. 

of  the  mystery  called  death,  by  the  removal  from  the 
household  of  a  little  brother.  Here  he  conned  his 
first  book-lessons  at  the  common  school ;  here  took 
his  first  religious  impressions,  and  received  Calvinis- 
tic  instructions  at  the  sabbath  school.  '  In  mature 
years  he  writes  of  these  teachings  :  "  I  cannot  forget 
those  days.  I  well  remember  the  benevolent  coun 
tenances  of  my  teachers,  and  the  solemnity  with 
which  they  told  their  young  pupils  that  we  were  sin 
ners,  and  must  be  born  again,  or  we  could  not  go  to 
heaven.  I  recollect,  too,  the  mingled  look  of  still 
unsatisfied  curiosity,  and  unanalyzed  yet  real  disap 
pointment,  which  came  over  the  more  thoughtful  of 
my  class,  whose  minds  were  just  beginning  to  unfold 
themselves  to  the  intense  impressions  of  religious 
things."  Here  he  learned  the  Assembly's  Cate 
chism;  and,  at  the  close  of  the  afternoon  sermon, 
took  part  in  the  public  catechizing,  the  children 
being  "  arranged  in  the  broad  aisle,  the  boys  on  one 
side,  and  the  girls  on  the  other,  with  the  minister  in 
the  pulpit  at  the  head,  and  the  elderly  people  occupy 
ing  the  neighboring  pews."  *  Here  was  the  "  Noon 
House,  —  a  small  building  near  the  school-house, 
where  several  elderly  men  and  women  went  (on 
sabbath  noons),  and  ate  their  dinner,  and  had  a 
prayer."  His  father's  house  was  also  open  on  sab 
bath  noons  for  as  many  as  it  would  contain  of  the 
people  living  too  remote  from  church  to  go  to  their 
homes  in  the  interval  of  service.  Here  the  venera 
ble  old  grandfather  and  grandmother,  in  an  old- 
fashioned  chaise,  followed  by  a  young  aunt  and 

*  "  Margaret." 


PARENTAGE    AND    CHILDHOOD.  11 

other  members  of  the  family  in  a  small  wagon,  were 
seen  driving  up  in  early  hour  for  church  service,  as 
regularly  as  the  sabbath  came,  from  his  farm  two 
or  three  miles  distant.  And  in  the  father's  parlor  at 
noon  were  gathered  the  grandparents  and  particular 
friends  and  relatives  of  the  family,  where  they  par 
took  of  a  cold  collation  of  "  nutcakes  and  cheese," 
and  other  articles  of  food  that  could  be  prepared 
beforehand ;  for  there,  in  those  times,  as  little  was 
done  on  the  sabbath  between  sun  and  sun  as  possi 
ble,  —  "  snuffed  snuff;  "  smoked  pipes  ;  "  talked  of 
the  weather,  births,  deaths,  health,  sickness,"  and 
so  forth. 

The  sabbath  was  at  this  time  observed,  in  this 
quiet  country  town,  very  much  after  the  manner  of 
the  Puritan  sabbath,  so  graphically  described  by  Miss 
Sedgwick  in  "  Hope  Leslie."  At  these  sabbath- 
noon  gatherings,  every  face  wore  a  serious  aspect ; 
and  if,  as  often  happened,  the  muscles  of  the  elders 
were  relaxed  by  the  outbreaking  wit,  or  rather  droll 
ery,  of  an  old  aunt,  and  her  antagonist  a  gentleman 
of  about  the  same  age,  it  would  be  accompanied  by 
"  a  half-  deprecating,  half-  laughing  "  expression, 
which  seemed  to  say,  "  She  is  so  droll,  that  a  body 
must  laugh,  though  it  be  sabbath-day." 

The  young  Sylvester  was  the  second  child  and 
son  of  the  family ;  and  then  followed  three  brothers 
and  a  sister,  all  born  at  the' "new  house,"  as  it  was' 
called  in  distinction  from  the  one  where  the  two 
eldest  first  saw  the  light.  As  a  child,  he  was  quick 
to  learn,  and  careful  to  learn  correctly.  He  joined  in 
plays  and  active  sports,  but  was  always  distanced 


12  PARENTAGE    AND    CHILDHOOD. 

in  these  pastimes  by  his  older  and  next  younger 
brother.  He  manifested  an  amiable  disposition,  was 
gentle  in  manners,  and  evinced  a  tendency  for  getting 
into  sympathy  with  others.  He  was  distinguished 
for  conscientiousness;  and  the  impression  of  those 
then  about  him  is,  that  he  was  never  known  to  utter 
an  untruth.  "Whether,  at  this  early  age,  there  was 
discernible  in  him  any  marked  susceptibility  to  na 
ture's  influences,  is  not  known ;  neither  were  there 
remarked  striking  characteristics  of  any  kind. 

The  following  expressions  from  his  own  pen,  in 
after-years,  may  serve  as  a  hint  of  his  own  remem 
bered  impressions :  "  The  child  has  sometimes  aspi 
rations  that  tower  high,  thoughts  that  reach  far,  fears 
that  sink  low.  We  can  all  remember  such  moments 
in  our  history.  How  much  of  eternity  has  come 
over  that  boy's  mind,  who  has  cast  his  fishing-line 
into  the  waters  of  our  silently  flowing  Connecticut ! 
I  do  not  say  his  reflections  may  not  be  dissipated  by 
the  first  dip  of  his  float ;  but  an  impression  has 
planted  itself  in  his  heart,  which  will  influence  him 
for  ever."  And  again :  "  I  had  from  my  earliest 
days  thought  much  of  God,  and  very  often  did  I 
retire  to  pour  out  my  soul  in  secret  to  him." 

For  a  few  years  after  marriage,  the  father  pros 
pered  very  well  in  his  pecuniary  affairs ;  but,  after 
the  coming  on  of  the  war  with  England  in  1812, 
his  small  business  was  very  much  embarrassed,  and 
at  length  well  nigh  closed.  After  a  time,  he  par 
tially  resumed  his  operations ;  but  no  good  degree 
of  prosperity  attended  his  exertions.  He  was  not 
naturally  fitted  for  mercantile  transactions,  and  never 


PARENTAGE    AND    CHILDHOOD.  13 

entered  into  them  with,  any  great  degree  of  enthu 
siasm.  As  time  passed  on,  his  love  of  study  quite 
overbalanced  his  willingness  to  submit  to  the  drud 
gery  of  exchanging  pins,  tape,  and  snuff,  for  a  few 
eggs  and  paper-rags ;  of  measuring  off  calico  and 
ribbons  for  their  value  in  butter  and  cheese ;  or 
drawing  molasses,  rum,  or  brandy,  for  waiting  cus 
tomers.  For  in  those  days,  the  country  store  was 
an  omnium  gatherum  of  all  sorts  of  merchandise,  ' ( a 
motley  array  of  dry  and  fancy  goods,  crockery,  hard 
ware,  groceries,  drugs,  and  medicines/' 

REMOVAL   TO    NORTHAMPTON. 

A  younger  brother  of  his,  Hophni  Judd,  Esq., 
had  been  educated,  for  the  profession  of  law,  and  had 
established  himself  in  Northampton.  Here,  in  con 
nection  with  the  Hon.  Isaac  C.  Bates,  he  had  become 
a  proprietor  and  editor  of  the  "  Hampshire  Gazette," 
an  old  respectable  newspaper,  the  first,  and  then  the 
only  one,  in  the  county.  But,  unhappily  for  sor 
rowing  friends,  this  promising  young  man,  with 
bright  professional  prospects,  and  on  the  eve  of  con 
summating  his  fond  visions  of  domestic  bliss,  two  or 
three  years  previous  to  the  time  above  referred  to, 
had  fallen  a  prey  to  slowly-consuming  pulmonary 
disease. 

It  was  now  determined,  in  1822,  that  the  West- 
hampton  brother  should  quit  his  ill-remunerating 
and  distasteful  occupation  there,  remove  to  North 
ampton,  and  become  sole  proprietor  and  editor  of  the 
paper  with  which  the  deceased  brother  had  been  con- 

2 


14  PARENTAGE    AND    CHILDHOOD. 

nected.  It  was  not,  indeed,  without  some  degree  of 
painful  feeling  that  he  decided  to  leave  the  house 
which  he  had  built,  with  its  flourishing  young  shade- 
trees,  shrubs,  and  flowers,  and  the  promise  of  fruit 
from  the  orchard,  which  he  had  taken  pains  to  plant, 
and  the  ground  around,  that  had  received  the  foot 
prints  of  one  of  his  little  boys  that  had  passed  away 
from  sight.  His  children  were,  of  course,  too  young 
to  share  in  these  feelings.  To  them,  change,  and 
the  prospect  of  being  where  there  was  more  chance 
for  amusements,  was  very  pleasant.  Of  this  period 
of  his  life,  before  the  change  of  residence  to  North 
ampton,  the  younger  Sylvester  wrote,  at  a  later 
time,  that  the  memory  of  it  was  merely  as  "  a  pleas 
ing  dream." 

But  the  now  aged  grandfather,  left  solitary  in  his 
farm-mansion  by  the  transition  to  the  spirit-world  of 
his  life-partner,  and  seven  out  of  his  eleven  children, 
and  the  marriage  of  the  remainder,  had,  the  year 
previous,  given  up  his  old  home,  and  come  to  reside 
with  this,  his  only  son.  A  widowed  daughter  now 
came  to  administer  to  the  wants  of  the  declining 
parent,  so  that  the  house  was  not  left  desolate ;  nei 
ther  did  it  go  into  the  hands  of  strangers,  but  for 
many  years  afterwards  was  the  fond  place  of  gath 
ering  on  Thanksgiving  and  other  times  for  children 
and  grandchildren. 


15 


CHAPTER  II. 


BOYHOOD     AND     YOUTH, 


NORTHAMPTON. 

THE  spring  of  1822,  then,  finds  the  boy  Sylvester, 
in  the  ninth  year  of  his  age,  transferred  from  his 
native  place  to  the  adjoining  town  of  Northampton. 
The  village  which  bears  this  name,  and  in  which  his 
father  now  came  to  reside,  is  justly  celebrated  as  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  spots  in  all  New  England. 
Its  streets  are  embowered  with  wide-spreading,  ven 
erable  elms ;  it  has  an  abundance  of  shrubbery, 
many  well-kept  gardens  and  tastefully  laid  out 
grounds ;  in  its  environs  are  inviting  foot-rambles 
and  pleasant  rides ;  here  is  Round  Hill,  with  its 
wood-crowned  summit  and  green-nested  residences, 
looking  out  afar  upon  a  beautiful  panorama  of  green 
fields  and  rich  meadows,  of  neat  little  villages  with 
their  church  spires  and  public  buildings ;  and  stretch 
ing  off  in  the  distance,  with  the  irregular  peaks  of 
Holyoke  and  Tom  in  the  foreground,  is  the  far  ex 
tending  perspective  of  mountains,  with  dark  cloud- 
shadows  and  bright  sunlight  upon  their  sides,  now 
reposing  in  dignity,  and  anon  chasing  each  other  with 
flying  footsteps ;  here,  too,  is  the  well-shaded  venera 
ble  old  burial-ground,  where  sleep  the  forefathers 


16  BOYHOOD    AND    YOUTH. 

of  the  village.     All  these  elements  conspire  to  ren 
der  the  place  most  lovely  and  attractive. 

EARLY    RELIGIOUS    EMOTIONS. 

Amid  these  charming  scenes,  Sylvester  passed  the 
period  of  boyhood.  A  deep  impression  was  made 
by  them  upon  his  mind  and  heart.  A  sensibility  to 
the  beautiful  was  developed.  Deep  religious  emo 
tions  also  often  stirred  his  young  spirit.  The  account 
given  by  himself  of  some  of  the  religious  experi 
ences  of  his  boyhood  is  as  follows  :  — 

"Religion,  which  as  a  subject  of  thought  often 
engaged  my  attention,  and  as  a  subject  of  feeling 
deeply  interested  my  heart,  was  a  mystery  to  me.  It 
was  a  fundamental  article  of  my  belief,  that  I  could 
not  become  religious  until  I  was  made  so  by  an 
extraneous  and  special  operation.  Still  I  earnestly 
longed  for  the  '  one  thing  needful.'  I  can  but  allude 
to  the  irrepressible  desire,  the  cravings  of  my  heart, 
for  a  full  participation  in  the  religious  feeling.  But 
the  influences  of  my  creed  came  over  my  spirit  like 
an  autumnal  frost,  and  sealed  up  the  fountains  of 
emotion.  Abused  Nature  did  not  always  remain 
silent  under  her  injuries.  She  poured  her  com 
plaints  into  my  ear  with  a  voice  that  I  should  not 
have  disregarded.  But  the  prejudice  of  education 
rendered  these  monitions  powerless  upon  my  rea 
son  and  convictions.  I  supposed  myself  totally 
depraved;  and  thus  was  my  earlier  youth  passed 
without  being  permitted  to  indulge  in  its  proper 
sensibilities. 


BOYHOOD    AND    YOUTH.  17 

"The  works  of  God  were  all  perverted  to  me. 
They  were  dispossessed  of  their  highest,  their  reli 
gious  beauty.  "When  I  fished  by  the  river-side, 
when  I  rambled  in  the  woods,  when  my  fancy  led  me 
to  a  favorite  hill-top  that  overhangs  as  lovely  a  land 
scape  as  our  continent  embraces,  I  thought  this 
world  was  beautiful;  I  thought  it  beneficent  in  its 
uses  ;  I  felt  that  there  was  a  unison  between  the  scene 
around  me  and  my  own  heart.  But  then  I  knew  that 
my  own  nature  was  cursed,  and  that  the  earth  had 
been  cursed ;  and  I  supposed  that  this  harmony  was 
depraved,  or  at  least  that  there  was  nothing  desirable 
about  it;  and  I  did  not  allow  myself  to  cherish  it 
as  much  as  I  wished,  nor  with  that  delight  which  it 
has  since  afforded  me.  I  used  to  repine  almost,  that 
I  had  not  lived  with  Adam  in  Paradise,  when  the 
earth  was  really  beautiful,  and  man's  nature  could 
properly  sympathize  with  its  charms.  I  used  to 
hope  that  I  might  live  to  see  the  millennium,  when 
this  double  curse  would  be  removed,  and  men  would 
be  restored  to  the  true  enjoyment  of  nature.  I 
looked  up  to  the  stars  at  night :  I  supposed  that  they 
had  not  been  cursed.  "While  my  imagination  would 
be  revelling  in  the  idea  of  their  number  and  dis 
tances,  my  heart  would  throw  itself  abroad,  and  min 
gle  somewhat  in  spirituality  with  the  infinite  God 
who  made  them  ;  I  felt  something  of  humility,  some 
thing  of  adoration,  something  of  love ;  but  I  had  not 
been  converted.  Of  course  my  feelings  were  not 
religion.  There  could  be  no  right  harmony  between 
my  heart  and  the  unsullied  glories  of  God's  handy- 
work,  which  thronged  the  firmament." 

2* 


18  BOYHOOD    AND    YOUTH. 


HIS    BOYHOOD-SCHOOLS. 

On  coming  to  Northampton,  Sylvester  at  first 
attended  a  private  school  taught  by  a  lady.  Here  he 
distinguished  himself  for  quickness  of  perception, 
and  facility  in  acquiring  knowledge.  He  then  went 
awhile  to  the  old  Hawley  Grammar  School  of  the 
place.  Nothing  is  known  of  his  doings  here,  save 
what  may  be  inferred  from  a  passage  in  a  Lyceum 
Lecture,  which,  after  attaining  manhood,  he  deliv 
ered  in  Northampton.  He  says  :  "  Many  of  us  were 
taught  our  rudiments  in  the  old  Grammar  School- 
house,  whose  square  roof  and  low  walls,  with  its 
broken  windows  and  loosened  clapboards,  still  sur 
vive  to  kindle  our  recollections.  There  was  little 
study,  but  an  iron  discipline.  Instead  of  instruction 
for  the  mind  were  the  ferule  and  switch  for  the  hand 
and  the  back.  There  were  school-hating  and  truant- 
loving.  For  philosophical  experiments,  the  combined 
skill  of  the  school  was  employed  in  constructing  a 
fire  of  green  logs,  and  keeping  it  active  during  the 
day.  Perhaps  there  were  better  things  than  these. 
But  these  things  were.  I  wish,  indeed,  I  could 
allude  to  that  old  building,  with  a  better  tribute  to 
its  memory." 

In  1824  he  was  allowed  to  accompany  some  young 
ladies,  relatives  of  his,  to  "Westfield  Academy,  then 
under  the  care  of  the  Eev.  Emerson  Davis.  He 
was  a  member  of  this  celebrated  institution  for  only 
one  or  two  terms,  but  long  enough  to  attract  the 
notice  and  win  the  approbation  of  the  principal,  little 


BOYHOOD    AND    YOUTH.  19 

boy  as  he  then  was,  in  the  midst  of  young  men  fit 
ting  for  college.  The  kind,  good  preceptor  is  remem 
bered  to  have  said,  that  there  was  great  pleasure  in 
giving  young  Judd  instruction  or  correcting  any  mis 
take  in  his  recitations,  because  he  never  had  to  repeat 
it  a  second  time  —  it  was  always  remembered.  While 
here,  he  commenced  the  study  of  Latin,  and  made  his 
first  attempts  at  elocution  and  composition-writing. 
His  first  written  production  was  submitted  to  the 
examination  of  one  of  the  young  ladies  under  whose 
care  he  was,  before  being  handed  to  his  teacher.  It 
was  quite  creditably  written,  but  very  short.  On  her 
asking  why  he  did  not  write  more,  he  very  naively 
replied,  "because  he  was  afraid  he  should  not  have 
any  thing  left  to  say  in  the  next  one."  He  did  so 
well  in  elocution,  always  recollecting  to  observe  sug 
gestions  previously  made,  that,  at  the  annual  public 
exhibition,  he  had  one  or  two  parts  assigned  to  him. 
He  was  at  that  time  a  bright,  pleasant-looking  boy, 
gentle  in  his  manners,  and  very  obliging  in  his  dis 
position.  He  became  quite  a  pet  with  the  young 
ladies  of  the  school,  much  older  than  himself,  who 
used  to  gather  around,  and  make  him  the  subject  of 
their  caresses. 

On  returning  to  Northampton,  he  attended  a  pri 
vate  school  taught  by  Mr.  Charles  Walker,  from 
whom  he  received  a  copy  of  the  "  Lights  and  Sha 
dows  of  Scottish  Life,"  inscribed  as  "a  reward  for 
attention  to  study  and  correct  deportment." 

In  the  summer  of  1825,  we  find  him  at  a  private 
school  under  the  care  of  Mr.  Robert  A.  Coffin,  who 
presented  him  a  like  testimonial  of  good  scholarship 


20  BOYHOOD    AND   YOUTH. 

and  deportment.  He  continued  at  this  school  for 
two  or  three  years ;  and  the  efforts  at  composition, 
at  this  period,  are  the  earliest  productions  of  his  pen 
which  he  preserved.  They  are  very  respectable  for 
a  boy  of  his  age,  but  exhibit  no  particular  saliency 
of  thought  or  fertility  of  imagination.  They  contain 
many  indications  of  moral  and  religious  sensibility. 
One  is  entitled,  "  The  Advantages  of  Early  Piety." 

A    REVIVAL,    AND    HIS    CONVERSION. 

In  1826,  there  occurred  in  Northampton  what 
is  termed  a  revival  of  religion,  under  the  minis 
trations  of  the  Eev.  Mark  Tucker,  accompanied  with 
its  usual  powerful  appeals,  and  multiplied  religious 
meetings.  The  mind  of  the  boy  being  naturally 
susceptible  to  religious  impressions,  and  even  before 
this  time  having  been  exercised  with  solicitude  about 
his  own  spiritual  welfare,  he  very  naturally  threw 
himself  into  the  current  of  strong  feeling  which 
was  abroad.  Without  much  inward  conflict  or  mental 
distress,  as  it  is  believed,  he  soon  found  peace  in  the 
hope  that  his  eternal  salvation  was  made  secure.  Of 
this  experience  he  writes  :  "  At  length  a  revival  came, 
that  long  wished-for  occurrence.  Into  its  scenes 
of  stirring  interest  and  solemn  devotion  I  entered, 
with  that  enthusiasm  which  the  subject  was  adapted 
to  enlist,  and  which  my  own  nature  prompted.  I 
found  that  which  I  sought.  I  was  happy  in  the  free 
exercise  of  a  new  heart,  and  was  satisfied  in  my 
election  being  secured."  Zealous  in  imparting  to 
others  the  great  benefits  which  he  felt  he  had  at- 


BOYHOOD    AND    YOUTH.  21 

tained,  this  young  disciple  immediately  entered  upon 
the  ministerial  office,  so  far  as  laboring  and  praying 
for  the  conversion  of  his  companions  was  concerned. 
He,  with  others,  often  held  meetings  in  a  barn, 
where,  mounted  on  a  barrel's  head,  he  would  put 
forth  earnest  appeals  to  his  playmates  to  forsake  sin, 
and  enter  the  pathway  of  eternal  life.  There  was 
in  his  prayers  an  unction  which  moved  the  hearts  of 
those  even  of  maturer  age.  He  did  not  at  this  time 
unite  with  the  church,  though  the  Rev.  Mr.  Tucker 
regarded  him  as  his  spiritual  child. 

INTERRUPTION    IN    STUDY,   AND    EXPERIENCE    AS    A 
CLERK. 

He  remained  at  school,  continuing  to  make  good 
progress  in  his  studies,  and  acting  quite  consistently 
with  the  Christian  character.  He  would  have  been 
glad  to  press  steadily  on,  and  fit  himself  for  college. 
But  he  was  interrupted  in  this  course.  This  was  a 
severe  trial,  and  for  a  number  of  months  he  was 
quite  unsettled  and  unharmonized.  Nervous  irrita 
bility  developed  itself;  and,  from  being  the  happy, 
kind-hearted  boy,  he  became  at  times  unamiable, 
morose,  and  filled  with  disquiet.  He  talked  a  great 
deal  about  going  to  sea,  and  his  friends  feared  that  in 
desperation  he  would  yield  to  his  impulse  in  that 
direction.  His  darling  wish  was  to  pursue  his 
studies,  and  it  was  a  bitter  thing  to  give  it  up.  He 
passed  some  months  with  his  grandfather  in  West- 
hampton,  and  at  length  became  in  a  degree  reconciled 
to  the  disappointment. 


22  BOYHOOD    AND    YOUTH. 

In  the  spring  of  1829,  determining  to  try  what 
he  could  do  in  the  mercantile  line,  he  went  to  Green 
field  to  serve  as  clerk  in  the  store  of  an  uncle.  Not 
succeeding  very  well  in  a  business  for  which  he  had 
little  tact  or  inclination,  he  remained  about  a  year, 
and  returned  home,  where  for  some  months  he  made 
himself  useful  to  his  father  in  keeping  books  and 
settling  accounts.  His  spirit  had  in  a  measure  re 
sumed  its  natural  quietness :  at  least,  he  had  done 
much  towards  patiently  submitting  to  the  inevitable. 
"While  at  Greenfield,  he  had  access  to  a  circulating 
library,  from  whose  shelves  he  drew  largely.  A 
considerable  portion  of  the  books  read  at  this  time 
were  novels,  though  a  respectable  minority  of  them 
were  on  solid  subjects.  He  wrote  a  brief  review  of 
all  he  read ;  and,  from  the  dates  attached,  it  is  found 
that  in  six  months  he  perused,  and  noticed  on  paper, 
more  or  less  at  large,  forty  volumes.  No  prospect 
of  permanent  employment  offering  itself  at  home, 
he  embraced  an  opportunity  of  trying  what  he  could 
do  as  a  dry -goods  clerk  in  Hartford.  He  went  now 
not  only  with  a  willingness  to  devote  himself  to  the 
business,  but  with  a  determination  to  make  most 
earnest  efforts  to  succeed.  The  result  of  this  experi 
ment,  and  his  feelings  attending  it,  may  be  seen  from 
the  following  letter  :  — 

"HAETFOED,  Oct.  14,  1830. 

"  Dear  Father,  —  My  own  great,  unceasing,  and, 
as  I  had  supposed,  well-directed  exertions  have  proved 
useless.  After  I  had  been  here  three  weeks,  W. 
asked  Mr. if  it  were  probable  I  should  stay 


BOYHOOD    AND    YOUTH.  23 

with  him.  He  said  it  would  be  determined  soon, 
and  mentioned  wherein  he  thought  I  failed.  Four 
weeks  have  elapsed  since  then,  during  which  time 
I  have  been  doubly  diligent,  and  fondly  hoped  I 
was  pleasing  my  employer.  Monday  morning  last, 

Mr. said  to  me,  without  any  previous  warning, 

'  Sylvester,  I  do  not  think  you  will  answer  our 
purpose.'  After  a  little  explanation,  I  asked  if  it 
were  determined  that  I  should  not  stay.  He  replied, 
'  Yes.'  If  a  bolt  from  heaven  had  struck  me  to  the 
earth,  I  could  not  have  been  more  startled. 

"  Thus,  father,  am  I  again  thrown  out  of  employ 
ment,  and  my  dreams  of  future  happiness,  connected 
with  Hartford  and  my  present  circumstances,  blasted 
in  a  moment.  But  that  is  not  the  worst.  An  inde 
lible  stigma  is  fixed  upon  my  character,  at  least  so 
far  as  concerns  my  capacity  of  remaining  a  mer 
chant's  clerk.  I  know  not  what  to  do. 

"New  York  is  so  near  that  I  have  a  good  mind 
to  go  down  and  get  aboard  ship  in  some  capacity  or 
other,  and  sail  for  distant  climes,  where  neither  the 
queries  of  present  friends,  the  inquiries  of  present 
relations,  nor  the  sneers  of  present  enemies,  will 
trouble  me  more.  But  still  I  say,  'New  England, 
with  all  thy  faults,  I  love  thee  well.'  I  do  not  mean 
to  visit  Northampton  again,  at  least  until  I  can  give 
a  better  account  of  myself  than  at  present. 

"  There  is  still  another  thought  that  deeply  affects 
me,  especially  when  I  consider  its  consequences 
either  way.  Had  I  known  half  as  much  of  myself 
years  ago  as  I  think  I  do  now,  instead  of  handling 
the  yard-stick,  I  might  now  be  treading  my  way,  at 


24  BOYHOOD    AND    YOUTH. 

least  to  some  distinction  in  the  paths  of  literature  and 
science.  Still  I  hope  it  is  not  now  too  late  to  appeal 
to  the  heart  of  a  father.  I  recollect  reading  not 
many  years  since,  in  the  diary  of  a  person,  —  [and 
here  it  may  be  added,  the  son  quotes  from  the  father,] 
—  an  expression  to  this  effect :  *  I  ought  to  have  been 
sent  to  college,  a  place  by  far  best  calculated  to 
develop  the  natural  propensities  of  my  mind.'  If 
I  know  any  thing  of  myself,  I  think  I  can  say  with 
out  self-flattery,  that  such  is  my  own  case,  using  the 
present  for  the  past  time.  Do  I  appeal  in  vain, 
when  I  ask,  in  short,  that  I  may  have  a  liberal  edu 
cation  1 " 

KNOWS   NOT   WHICH    WAY    TO   TURN. 

Disappointed,  chagrined,  despairing,  —  to  use  his 
own  words  in  writing  of  it  afterwards, — he  knew 
not  which  way  to  turn.  The  desire  of  his  heart,  years 
before,  had  been  for  a  student's  life.  He  had  sacri 
ficed  this  wish,  and  striven  earnestly  to  succeed  in 
the  business  which  seemed  most  feasible.  His  best 
efforts  had  proved  fruitless,  unavailing ;  and,  as  he 
thought,  the  failure  had  left  its  stamp  of  disgrace 
upon  him.  He  made  a  trip  to  New  York,  and  for  a 
few  days  sought  to  dissipate  his  troubled  feelings  by 
learning  what  he  could  of  interest  of  this  great,  busy 
city.  In  a  short  time,  his  mind  getting  somewhat 
accustomed  to  the  disappointment,  he  returned  home. 

The  chief  obstacle  in  the  way  of  his  pursuing  a 
liberal  course  of  study  was  the  want  of  means  on 
the  part  of  his  father  to  sustain  him  in  it.  As  has 


BOYHOOD    AND    YOUTH.  25 

before  been  shown,  the  business  of  the  father  at 
Westhampton  had  not  been  profitable.  On  coming  to 
Northampton,  he  had  met  with  good  success  as  editor 
of  the  "Hampshire  Gazette."  It  was  a  business  in 
which  he  was  interested,  and  for  which  he  was  fitted. 
The  paper  improved  in  his  hands ;  it  was  sought  and 
appreciated  for  the  amount  of  valuable  and  highly 
instructive  matter  it  contained.  In  a  short  time,  his 
subscribers  more  than  doubled.  But  he  was  never 
the  man  to  press  his  debtors  to  pay  their  dues,  if 
they  were  not  disposed  to  come  forward  voluntarily 
and  do  so ;  and  the  net  income  was  not  large.  In 
addition  to  the  want  of  means,  the  father  had  very 
little  confidence  in  any  thing  the  professions  had  to 
offer,  with  the  exception  of  the  ministry  ;  and  possi 
bly,  biassed  by  his  own  experience,  he  was  a  little 
wedded  to  the  idea  that  self-teaching  was  more  valu 
able  than  any  other ;  and  the  best  way,  after  all,  was 
for  a  man  to  make  himself. 

The  question  involved  too  much  to  allow  of  a 
decision  at  once,  though  it  is  evident  there  was  a 
leaning  towards  the  affirmative.  It  was  at  length 
settled,  that  Sylvester  should  pass  the  coming  winter 
at  his  grandfather's  in  Westhampton,  and  attend  a 
private  school  taught  by  Dr.  Wheeler  of  that  place ; 
at  the  same  time  giving  some  assistance  as  clerk  in 
the  little  store  where  his  father  used  to  be,  and 
which  was  now  in  the  hands  of  a  kinsman.  Even 
this  arrangement  for  the  winter,  with  the  uncertainty 
of  its  being  prolonged  beyond  a  few  months,  was 
joy  indeed  to  his  heart.  He  resumed  his  studies 
with  great  zest.  His  compositions  at  this  time 

3 


26  BOYHOOD    AND    YOUTH. 

evince  quite  an  enlarged  sphere  of  thought.  To 
some  of  the  follies  and  gossip  of  the  school-circle, 
he  applied  the  wholesome  caustic  of  a  little  satire. 
Elocution  also  received  some  of  his  attention,  and 
he  joined  a  class  in  a  singing  school,  and  underwent 
a  drilling  in  the  rudiments  of  music.  But,  his  ear 
being  a  little  at  fault,  he  never  met  with  much  suc 
cess  in  his  efforts  at  singing,  although  he  had  a  great 
fondness  for  it. 

This  residence  for  a  few  months  in  the  place  of 
his  birth,  and  in  circumstances  so  pleasant  to  him, 
together  with  frequent  visits  previously,  and  attend 
ance  upon  the  Thanksgiving  family  gatherings  at 
the  home  of  his  childhood,  where  now  the  venerable 
old  grandfather  dwelt,  added  to  the  remembrances 
and  associations  of  his  young  years,  formed  a  strong 
tie  to  the  place,  which  ever  retained  its  hold  upon 
him.  At  about  this  date,  he  writes  to  a  cousin,  "  I 
always  loved  Westhampton,  its  hills  and  dales,  its 
woods,  fields,  and  gurgling  brooks,  yes,  and  its  inha 
bitants  too !  "  And  ten  years  afterwards,  writing  to 
another  cousin  who  was  also  a  school-fellow  of  his  at 
this  time,  he  says :  "  All  my  youth  centres  in  West 
hampton.  Northampton  is  nothing  to  me :  I  seem 
never  to  have  lived  there.  In  Westhampton  I  did 
live.  I  could  die  there.  Its  hills,  its  meagreness,  its 
people,  all  have  an  interest  for  me." 

In  the  spring  of  1831,  Sylvester  returned  to 
Northampton,  still  perplexed  as  to  what  course  he 
was  to  take.  There  was  no  school  in  town  of  the 
kind  he  needed  to  fit  him  for  college.  But  Hopkins 
Academy  at  Hadley  was  only  about  three  miles  dis- 


BOYHOOD    AND    YOUTH.  27 

tant ;  the  walk  back  and  forth  would  serve  as  a  good 
physical  balance  for  the  requisite  exercise  of  mind ; 
and  he  could  thus  board  at  home,  and  save  all 
expense,  except  that  of  tuition.  His  mind  also  was 
now  fully  made  up,  if  he  could  go  through  the 
required  preparation,  to  devote  himself  to  the  sacred 
ministry;  thus  meeting  his  father's  views  on  that 
point. 

It  was  therefore  at  length  settled,  that  he  should 
enter  Hopkins  Academy,  and  pursue  his  studies  as 
far  as  the  advantages  of  the  institution  would  admit ; 
leaving  it  for  time  to  decide  whether  a  college-course 
was  to  follow  at  the  end  of  that  period. 


CHAPTER  III. 

PREPARATION  FOR  COLLEGE,  AND   COLLEGE  LIFE. 


HOPKINS    ACADEMY. 

ON  the  first  of  June,  1831,  therefore,  our  young 
friend  became  a  member  of  Hopkins  Academy,  board 
ing  at  home,  and  taking  a  walk  of  six  miles  every 
day  in  his  journey  to  and  from  school.  But  a  light 
heart  made  willing  footsteps.  The  gently  flowing 
Connecticut  he  crossed ;  through  the  rich  meadows 
of  corn  and  grain  he  passed ;  birds  in  the  apple-trees 
and  old  elms  cheered  him  on ;  and  the  broad  Hadley- 
street,  lined  with  its  thick-set  ancient  trees,  afforded 
him  shade  and  smooth  walking  at  the  close  of  his 
trip. 

He  was  happy  now  in  the  entire  abandonment  of 
all  his  energies  to  his  favorite  pursuits.  The  intrica 
cies  of  Greek  and  Latin,  and  the  knotty  problems  of 
mathematics,  were  no  stumbling-block  to  him.  He 
never  seemed  to  study  hard,  or  to  make  any  particu 
lar  exertion  to  learn  his  lessons,  and  yet  he  always 
had  them.  He  was  fond  of  writing,  and  it  seemed 
to  cost  him  no  effort.  His  compositions  at  this  period 
are  quite  full,  and  on  a  variety  of  subjects  connected 
with  the  times  and  circumstances,  among  which  were 
the  Military  Spirit  and  the  Evils  of  War.  His  sense 


PREPARATION    FOR    COLLEGE.  29 

of  the  injustice  done  to  Poland  showed  itself  in  a 
lament  for  its  fate.  All  his  pieces  discover  more  than 
a  common  range  of  thought,  and  are  marked  by  reli 
gious  fervor.  Moral  subjects,  and  especially  those 
of  reform,  attracted  his  attention.  His  increase  of 
knowledge  all  seemed  turned  to  moral  purposes.  In 
one  piece  he  thus  apostrophizes  :  "  Charity.,  heavenly 
messenger !  thy  look  tells  us  how  holy  seraphs  are. 
A  garland  encircles  thy  forehead  radiant  with  gems 
more  white  than  Ceylon's  pearls,  more  brilliant  than 
Brazilian  diamonds.  Thy  blue  eyes  are  modest  as  is 
the  firmament  above  our  heads.  Thy  countenance 
is  lighted  up  with  a  smile  benignant  as  those  who 
bore  the  welcome  news,  —  *  glad  tidings.' ' 

In  his  second  year  at  Hadley,  something  of  a  poetic 
element  was  developed  in  his  nature.  He  tried  his 
pen  a  little  at  rhyme  and  blank  verse,  in  original 
pieces,  translations,  and  parodies.  But,  while  many 
of  these  were  very  well  sustained,  there  was  then  no 
evidence  of  his  possessing  great  poetical  talent.  The 
annexed  lines,  showing  his  sense  of  the  pecuniary 
embarrassments  which  hindered  the  gratification  of 
his  wishes,  occur  in  an  address  to  Poverty :  — 


"  Thou  potent  one,  in  strongest  chains 
Who  bind'st  me  filled  with  woes  and  pains, 
Do  break  the  rivet,  set  me  free. 
As  birds  once  held  by  wires,  with  glee 
Shoot  forth,  when  loosed,  and  know  not  where 
To  stop,  for  theirs  is  all  the  air, 
So  let  me  go.    No  good,  I'm  sure 
To  hold  me  thus.    It  will  not  cure 
My  restlessness,  however  tight 
Thou  fitt'st  these  manacles. 


3* 


30  PREPARATION    FOR    COLLEGE. 

Good  sir,  loose,  loose  your  hold. 
Where  science  leads,  I  wish  to  go, 
And  soon  to  reach  Fame's  temple  too; 
Where  mind's  choice  pleasures  grow, 
I  wish  to  tread,  and  there  to  sow 
The  seeds  of  influence  and  esteem. 
Regard  not  these  as  airy  dream, 
But  say,  God  speed  thee  in  thy  way. 

Cease  clenching  thus,  lie  down  to  rest, 
Thy  bed  I'll  smooth  like  linnet's  nest. 

Again,  I  say,  let  go  thy  hold, 
Or  I  will  be  as  thou  art,  bold. 
Thou  leerest  like  a  demon  lost: 
By  Jove!  but  thou  shalt  learn  the  cost. 
I  yet  will  burst  my  fetters  strong, 
And  bind  them  where  they  best  belong. 
I'll  break  thy  iron  teeth,  thy  jaw 
I'll  cleave  with  steely  point,  thy  maw 
Hot  stones  shall  fill." 

At  the  exhibition  which  closed  his  academic 
course,  he  was  honored  with  the  valedictory  address, 
which  he  gave  in  the  form  of  a  poem ;  and,  at  three 
or  four  of  the  previous  quarterly  exhibitions,  he 
spoke  original  pieces.  He  also  delivered  an  Astro 
nomical  Lecture  before  the  Lyceum  of  the  town. 
Some  part  of  the  time  he  was  at  the  academy,  he 
was  president  of  its  Literary  Society. 

On  quitting  Hopkins  Academy,  he  writes :  "  The 
school  is  done.  The  thousand  tender  ties  which  have 
been  binding  my  heart  to  others  for  more  than  a  year, 
have  now  been  cut  off;  and  my  heart,  thus  set  adrift, 
feels  desolate.  The  road  which  I  have  trod  so  often, 
and  always  with  pleasure,  must  now  be  walked  by 
other  steps  than  mine.  I  leave  Hadley  with  many 
regrets.  Her  citizens  have  always  treated  me  with 


PREPARATION    FOR    COLLEGE.  31 

that  civil  attention  which  has  made  a  deep  impression 
on  my  mind.  Their  respect  is  not  the  hypocritical 
respect  of  necessity,  but  that  resulting  from  kind 
ness  of  heart,  and  a  habit  of  attentive  courtesy." 

RELIGIOUS   EXPERIENCE. 

As  has  already  been  stated,  in  1826,  at  the  age  of 
thirteen,  Sylvester  shared  in  the  interests  of  a  revival 
of  religion  in  Northampton,  and  found  happiness  in 
the  hope  that  his  own  eternal  salvation  was  secured. 
He  had  always  been  susceptible  to  religious  impres 
sions,  and  now  he  had  experienced  the  great  change 
which  he  had  been  taught  to  believe  necessary.  The 
boy's  mind  was  at  peace ;  and  he  went  on  for  a  year 
or  two,  quietly  endeavoring  to  perform  what  he  con 
sidered  Christian  duties,  and  happy  in  the  thought 
that  he  was  indeed  a  child  of  God.  At  length,  dis 
appointment  in  pursuing  his  studies  came,  together 
with  some  other  trials  and  crosses  of  his  natural 
temperament.  He  became  irritated  and  depressed. 
His  religion,  which  was  then  probably  more  an 
impulse  than  a  principle,  was  not  found  sufficient 
for  the  emergency.  Wrong  feeling  brought  self- 
distrust,  and  self-distrust  again  re-acted  in  wrong 
feeling.  He  became  lost,  blinded  and  unhappy  in 
his  religious  course,  and  was  well-nigh  inclined  to 
give  it  all  up. 

But  when  the  hope  of  a  student's  life  was  revived, 
with  it  returned  decidedly  religious  feelings,  and  the 
determination  to  make  the  ministry  his  profession. 
3oon  after  he  commenced  attending  Hopkins  Aca- 


32  PREPARATION   FOR   COLLEGE. 

demy,  he  made  a  public  profession  of  religion,  by 
uniting  himself  to  the  Calvinistic  church  in  North 
ampton,  then  under  the  care  of  the  Rev.  I.  S. 
Spencer.  There  was  another  revival  at  this  time, 
and  into  its  interests  he  entered  with  renewed  fer 
vor.  Partaking  largely  of  the  then  existing  revival- 
spirit,  he  was  urged  on  with  a  zeal  not  always 
according  to  knowledge.  The  prevailing  idea  of  his 
mind  was,  that  all  were  divided  into  two  classes,  — 
the  converted  and  the  impenitent ;  and  that  the  latter, 
without  the  change  termed  conversion,  were  for  ever 
hopelessly  lost.  He  had  received  the  belief,  also,  that 
their  salvation,  or  the  responsibility  of  their  eternal 
perdition,  rested,  in  a  great  measure,  upon  the  faith 
ful  labors  of  the  truly  converted.  Burning  with  the 
desire  that  all  might  be  saved,  and  filled  with  horror 
at  the  thought  of  the  eternal  misery  of  any  soul,  he, 
with  other  young  converts  of  the  time,  labored,  in 
season  and  out  of  season,  for  the  conversion  of  the 
impenitent,  and  for  the  arousing  of  old  professing 
Christians,  who,  it  seemed  to  them,  were  dead  to  the 
tremendous  realities  of  their  obligations.  At  the 
academy,  frequent  prayer-meetings  were  held;  and 
many  were  the  admonitions  and  appeals  to  his  un 
converted  fellow-students.  In  company  with  another 
young  man,  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  go  forth  on  a 
sort  of  missionary  tour  to  the  adjoining  towns,  to 
hold  meetings,  and  urge  sinners  to  repentance. 


PREPARATION    FOR    COLLEGE. 


ENTERING    COLLEGE. 

* 

In  August,  1832,  a  little  more  than  a  year  from 
the  time  he  entered  Hopkins  Academy,  Sylvester 
finished  the  studies  preparatory  for  college.  His 
father  could  promise  only  a  part  of  the  means 
requisite  for  a  college-course  ;  but,  with  some  encou 
ragement  of  aid  from  other  friends,  the  hope  of 
gaining  something  by  teaching  or  some  other  busi 
ness  in  vacations,  and  the  opportunity  of  availing 
himself  of  a  public  scholarship,  he  entered  Yale 
College  in  the  September  following.  In  a  letter  to 
a  friend,  a  short  time  previous,  with  reference  to  the 
pecuniary  embarrassments  by  which  he  was  envi 
roned,  he  says  :  "  I  shall  probably  go  coarsely  dressed, 
but  do  not  be  ashamed  of  me.  I  must  economize" 
The  last  scene  in  which  he  engaged,  previously  to 
his  departure,  was  assisting  at  the  obsequies  of  his 
revered  and  aged  grandfather,  at  the  old  home  in 
Westhampton.  Of  this  event  he  writes  to  his  brother 
J.  W.  :  "  Our  endeared  grandsire,  the"  virtuous  citi 
zen,  the  man  of  integrity,  the  firm  Christian,  is  no 
more.  His  counsels  will  never  again  greet  our  ears, 
or  his  living  example  lead  us  to  purity  of  life  and 
morals.  But  he,  being  dead,  may  yet  speak  to  us. 
What  a  noble  pattern  for  imitation !  May  his  de 
scendants  look  at  it,  revere  and  follow  it !  His  path, 
we  can  but  think,  has  been  the  path  to  heaven ;  and 
there,  we  trust,  he  now  rests  in  the  bosom  of  his 
God. 

"  We,  too,  must  die ;  and,  when  we  die,  may  a 


34  COLLEGE    LIFE. 

light  like  his  proceed  from  our  graves  to  guide  pos 
terity  in  the  path  of  virtue  and  religion !  May  we  be 
gathered  to  our  fathers,  as  he  will  be,  attended  by 
the  blessings  of  all  around  us  !  Oh  that  his  mantle, 
as  he  is  borne  on  angels'  wings  to  heaven,  may  de 
scend  and  envelop  us  !  " 

And  now  we  see  this  young  man,  after  his  many 
struggles  and  disappointments,  at  last  ensconced 
within  the  walls  of  one  of  our  oldest  and  most 
honored  universities,  the  dream  of  his  early  youth 
accomplished,  the  highest  wish  of  his  maturer  years 
realized,  the  path  to  literary  fruition  stretching  out 
gloriously  before  him.  He  felt  that  his  cup  was  now 
full  to  overflowing,  and  his  grateful  heart  poured 
itself  forth  in  lively  acknowledgments  to  the  Author 
of  all  good.  A  deep  sense  of  his  responsibility  to 
others  also  attended  him. 

On  finding  himself  settled  in  college,  he  writes  in 
his  Journal,  Sept.  27,  1832  :  — 

"On  Tuesday  last,  I  was  examined,  and  admitted 
Freshman  here.  I  have  begun  a  new  life.  It  has 
its  morning,  noon,  and  evening,  its  hopes  and  disap 
pointments,  its  joys  and  sorrows ;  its  dangers  from 
heedlessness,  its  dangers  from  extreme  care ;  its  path 
to  glory,  and  its  path  to  infamy.  It  presents  allure 
ments  to  ambition,  and  often  pampers  envy.  The 
spirit  of  emulation  and  unholy  rivalry  is  a  deep, 
gulfy  stream,  which  lies  along  the  path  of  this  life, 
in  which  thousands  are  wrecked.  I  shall  need  the 
instructions  of  tutors  and  professors  to  guide  me  in 
the  path  of  science,  but  especially  shall  I  need  the 
counsels  of  Infinite  Wisdom  to  direct  my  way  to 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  35 

heaven.  How  shall  I  begin  ?  A  good  beginning 
seems  to  offer  a  successful,  beneficial,  and  happy  pro 
gression,  and  a  triumphant  termination.  As  a  man, 
I  must  be  honorable ;  as  a  student,  industrious ;  as  a 
classmate,  courteous  and  kind ;  and,  more  than  all,  as 
a  Christian,  I  must  be  gentle  in  spirit,  exemplary  in 
conduct,  chaste  in  conversation,  and  ready  in  every 
good  word  and  work.  Oh  for  grace  to  obey  the 
commandments  of  my  Saviour,  to  cultivate  his  spirit, 
and  love  him  with  all  my  heart ! " 

Some  extracts  from  letters  written  during  his 
college-life  will  form  the  best  history  of  this  period. 
Those  which  immediately  follow  will  exhibit  his 
religious  position  on  entering  college. 


FRESHMAN    YEAR. 

To  HIS  COUSIN,  G.  L. 

"  YALE  COLLEGE,  Oct.  29,  1832. 

"  The  multifarious  duties  of  college-life  so  eat  up 
time,  that  there  is  scarcely  a  vestige  of  him  left,  in 
which  to  mingle  our  feelings  with  those  of  absent 
friends,  by  the  medium  of  letter-writing.  As  you 
may  well  suppose,  time  so  occupied  flies  swiftly.  I 
have  been  here  now  almost  six  weeks ;  but,  in  the 
retrospection,  these  dwindle  to  a  moment.  They 
seem  like  a  swift-winged  dream. 

"  Our  class  has  increased  to  one  hundred.  About 
one  third  are  professors.  Of  the  remainder,  some 
are  moral,  some  profane,  and  some  openly  vicious. 
How  interesting  would  be  the  sight,  if  all  these 


36  COLLEGE    LIFE. 

could  be  reclaimed  from  sin  to  holiness !  How 
noble  the  work  for  the  Christian,  while  here,  to  be 
engaged  not  only  in  fitting  himself  for  greater  use 
fulness,  but  also  in  winning  these  talented  youth  to 
espouse  the  cause  of  Christ,  and  consecrate  all  their 
talents  to  him!  You  will  see  how  responsible  a 
person  becomes,  who  is  placed  in  contact  with  minds 
which  are  to  exert  a  vast  influence  on  society,  for 
the  influence  he  exerts  on  them.  Such  is  my 
situation.  And  may  God  grant  that  I  shall  fulfil 
the  every  iota  of  my  responsibility ! 

"  It  is  not  necessary  that  I  give  you  the  particu 
lars  of  a  Freshman's  initiation.  Suifice  it  to  say,  that 
we  had  smoking,  breaking  windows,  stealing  keys, 
calling  before  mock-tutors,  and  so  forth.  These  a 
Freshman  must  endure,  and  with  the  more  grace  the 
better ;  for  resistance  seems  almost  vain. 

"  We  board  in  commons ;  that  is,  some  hundred 
or  hundred  and  fifty  students  eat  on  the  lower 
floor  of  a  building,  partitioned  into  rooms,  connected 
by  doors.  Our  fare  is  good,  but  we  have  noise  and 
confusion  without  end.  While  the  blessing  is  being 
asked  at  one  table,  there  will  be  rapping^  ringing 
bells,  and  hollowing  for  '  Waiter,  waiter,'  at  another. 
This  mixture  of  noise  and  sacred  things  is  some 
times  too  great  for  my  risibles,  so  that  I  am  obliged 
to  laugh  in  spite  of  myself. 

"  Permit  me  to  inquire  how  nearly  assimilated 
you  are  to  the  purity  of  heaven.  The  true  answer  to 
this  question  determines  your  advance  heavenward. 
It  seems  to  me  that  we  are  apt  to  labor  under  a  mis 
take  of  this  kind ;  to  wit,  we  look  upon  a  Christian, 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  37 

and  consider  him  to  be  going  so  fast  towards  heaven, 
as  he  advances  in  life ;  and,  when  he  dies,  we  say  he 
has  got  to  heaven.  But,  if  assimilation  of  character 
be  the  test  of  a  man's  nearness  to  the  heavenly 
world,  it  follows,  that  if  you  and  I  are  less  watchful, 
prayerful,  and  godly  than  we  were  eighteen  months 
ago,  we  are  farther  from  heaven ;  and  that,  if  we  con 
tinue  in  this  cold  state,  we  shall  never  reach  it,  or, 
at  least,  we  shall  come  to  a  much  lower  seat  there 
than  if  we  had  died  then." 

To  HIS  SISTER-IN-LAW,  E.  "W.  J.     % 

"  Dec.  3,  1832. 

"  Now  when  I  write  to  those  in  whom  I  feel  an 
interest  arising  from  a  relation  like  yours  and  mine, 
I  do  not  wish  to  give  them,  as  I  am  sure  they  would 
not  wish  to  receive,  the  fag-end  of  a  multiplicity  of 
thoughts  ;  but  wish,  as  mother  says,  to  wash  up,  put 
on  a  clean  cap,  take  my  knitting -work,  sit  down  in 
the  old  rocking-chair,  and  visit,  sociably  and  freely. 

"  '  The  sacred  affection/  ha !  Really,  E.,  I  thought 
you  were  a  matron,  settled  down  in  life,  and  that 
you  had  forgotten  the  airy  things  that  maidens  and 
poets  dream.  If  you  are  not  so,  you  must  at  least 
consider  us  students  as  on  the  Alps  of  wisdom,  and 
looking  down  on  the  thunderings  and  lightnings 
of  that  *  sacred  affection '  with  a  sort  of  sovereign 
indifference,  free  from  their  dangers  ourselves,  yet 
rather  pleased  to  see  their  effect  upon  others." 

The  home-circle  was  remembered  by  him  with  the 
keenest  interest;  and  to  it,  jointly  or  individually, 

4 


38  COLLEGE    LIFE. 

were  frequent  communications  addressed.  The  an 
nexed  letter  discloses  also  how  fondly  he  was  kept 
in  mind  by  the  different  members  of  the  family :  — 

"  Dec.  15,  1832. 

"Ever-remembered  Parents,  Brothers  and  Sis 
ters, — 'Tis  a  rainy  and  gloomy  evening.  The  noise 
that  is  ever  kept  up  in  and  about  college  has  ceased. 
I  am  comfortably  seated  by  my  stove  in  the  act  of 
writing.  My  chum  is  reading  by  my  side.  This 
afternoon  I  received  two  boxes  of  good  things  from 
home,  and  have  just  had  the  pleasure  of  eating  my 
cake  and  cheese  with  my  friend,  Mr.  P.  and  my 
room-mate,  Mr.  J.  Thus  you  see  we  have  had  our 
Thanksgiving ;  although  a  little  out  of  time,  yet  not 
out  of  spirit.  We  cut  the  cake  with  our  penknives, 
and  drank  toasts  on  water.  These  articles  came  like 
water  to  a  thirsty  traveller.  On  opening  the  box,  I 
was  sensibly  reminded  of  the  care  you  all  take  of 
me.  First  came  the  apples ;  then  mother's  care  in 
the  form  of  curtains,  carpet,  cake,  and  so  forth, 
which  I  well  knew  A.  assisted  in  the  preparation  of. 

Then  came  H i's  bag  of  pop-corn,  butter-nuts, 

and  the  choice  apples  the  little  ones  had  taken  pains 
to  mark  their  names  on,  and  send  to  me.  I  put 

P n's  apple  to  my  lips,  and  thought  P n 

shall  have  a  kiss,  and  kissed  the  apple  in  place  of 
her  rosy  lips. 

"  I  received  this  afternoon,  from  Mrs.  L.,  a  mother 
in  Israel,  the  unexpected  offer  of  my  board  without 
remuneration.  This  was  too  acceptable  and  gener 
ous  to  be  refused.  So  you  see  my  cup  of  temporal 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  39 

felicity  is  full.  The  clouds  that  have  darkened  my 
future  prospect  seem,  at  least  for  the  present,  to 
have  rolled  away.  Have  I  merited  this  ?  Indeed 
not.  It  is  His  high  prerogative  to  give,  though 
merit  shows  no  claim. 

"  My  studies,  too,  are  not  of  a  nature  to  weary  the 
spirit  with  constant  tediousness  and  difficulty.  Devo 
tion  to  them  may  be  called  a  recreation  rather  than  a 
task.  To  Him  who  is  distilling  upon  me  the  gentle 
dews  of  peace  and  prosperity,  and  not  pouring  out 
upon  me  storms  of  perplexity,  disappointment,  and 
misery,  be  the  glory.  I  say  these  things  because  I 
have  seen  some  under  the  iron  grasp  of  poverty, 
ready  to  despair,  with  no  prospect  of  relief;  and 
others  vexed  at  and  baffled  by  algebraic  problems,  or 
Latin  and  Greek  abstruseness,  ready  to  throw  their 
books  to  the  four  winds. 

"  The  college-bell  wakes  us  at  six  in  the  morning, 
when  we  hurry  on  our  clothes,  wash  in  a  hurry,  and 
hurry  to  the  chapel  for  prayers  ;  some  buttoning 
their  vests,  some  tying  their  handkerchiefs,  and  all 
with  the  sleepy  scales  scarcely  loosened  from  their 
eyes.  This  is  too  much  a  formality,  I  fear,  in  which 
religion  is  too  solemnly  mocked,  but  by  which  it  is 
known  that  all  the  students  are  up,  and  ready  for 
recitation,  which  immediately  ensues. 

"  The  package  of  letters  I  received  yesterday. 

Take  care,  H i,  that  your  '  iron-shod  sled '  don't 

run  away  with  you.  I  am  afraid  that,  some  Saturday 
afternoon,  it  will  start  off  to  slide  down  hill,  and 
take  you  with  it,  when  you  had  better  be  at  home. 

"  P n  will  soon  learn  to  write  her  own  letters  ; 


40  COLLEGE    LIFE. 

then  she  can  tell  her  absent  brother  what  she  wishes, 
without  employing  an  amanuensis.  (Look  in  the 
dictionary.)  I  am  afraid  that  I  shall  not  go  home  in 
the  vacation  to  get  your  *  hundred  kisses.'  Keep 
your  temper  sweet  as  your  lips,  and  then  your  kisses 
will  be  sweet  indeed.  You  had  better  study  your 

books,  P n,  than  to  make  dolls,  for  your   dolls 

will  be  spoilt  or  lost ;  but  what  you  learn  will  never 
be  lost.  I  hope  soon  to  see  a  neat  little  letter  in 
your  own  handwriting.  It  is  now  after  ten ;  and,  as 
I  suppose  you  are  in  bed,  so  I  will  be.  Good  night. 
"Your  kindnesses,  my  mother,  have  ever  been 
reiterated,  and  too  often  upon  my  ingratitude.  But 
I  can  be  ungrateful  no  more.  If  your  children,  or 
your  child,  have  ever  caused  you  hours  of  anxiety 
and  silent  sorrow,  may  hours  of  brightest  hope  and 
unclouded  joy,  on  their  account,  be  yours  now  and 
evermore ! " 

A  few  months  after  entering  college,  he  inscribed 
in  his  journal,  the  following — 

"  CONSECRATION." 

"Fully  sensible  of  my  weakness,  sinfulness,  and 
proneness  to  wander,  in  full  view  of  the  tempta 
tions  from  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil ;  aware 
of  the  great  obligations  this  act  imposes  upon  me, 
yet  knowing  that  our  blessed  Captain  requires  the 
entire  soul,  the  supreme  affection,  and  whole  devo 
tion  of  all  his  followers,  not  only  as  the  strict  demand 
of  duty,  but  as  the  happy  enjoyment  of  privilege, 
and  trusting  in  Him  who  strengthens  the  weak, 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  41 

makes  holy  the  sinful,  and  who  gives  grace  to  resist 
in  the  hour  of  temptation,  and  with  much  prayer  for 
direction  and  support,  I  now  make  this  solemn  con 
secration  : — 

"  I  consecrate  myself,  my  time,  my  talents,  my 
influence,  my  thoughts,  my  property,  my  knowledge, 
and  my  all,  to  God  and  his  service.  Be  my  witness, 
Holy  Father,  thou  my  Saviour,  thou  my  Sanctifier, 
angels,  spirits  of  the  pit,  myself. 

"  I  consecrate  myself  as  soul  and  body,  the  one  to 
devise,  and  the  other  to  act,  till  death  dissolves  their 
mutual  connection;  and  then  my  spirit,  wherever 
in  the  universe  of  God  its  existence  may  continue, 
and  its  service  be  required.  I  consecrate  my  time, 
to  fill  up  each  year,  month,  week,  day,  hour,  and 
moment,  with  some  act  performed  that  shall  bear  the 
impress,  Holiness  to  the  Lord ;  —  my  talents,  to  give 
them  a  decidedly  religious  culture,  and  to  exert  them 
in  the  cause  of  truth  and  holiness,  and  in  opposi 
tion  to  error  and  irreligion,  wherever  seen  and  how 
ever  found ;  —  my  influence,  to  extend  its  sphere 
as  much  as  possible ;  to  have  it  so  decided  that  all 
may  know  that  it  is  for  God,  at  all  times  and  under 
all  circumstances ;  to  never  draw  it  away  for  fear  of 
reproach  or  unpopularity,  with  whomsoever  I  may 
be ;  and  to  make  it  as  wholly  for  the  cause  of  truth 
and  religion  as  possible ;  —  my  thoughts,  to  keep  the 
current  of  them  constantly  directed  to  subjects  which 
directly  or  indirectly  promote  his  glory,  to  watch 
them,  and  check  at  once  all  aberrations,  and  to  give 
them  for  food,  not  the  allurements  of  ambitious  or 
envious  contemplations,  or  lustful  scenes,  or  scenes 

4* 


42  COLLEGE   LIFE. 

of  worldly  pleasure,  but  the  rich  feast  of  heavenly 
and  divine  things  ;  —  my  property,  to  use  what  little 
I  now  have,  in  securing  an  education  for  the  gospel 
ministry,  and,  should  more  ever  be  my  portion, 
to  use  none  of,  it  for  superfluous  or  rich  articles  of 
dress  or  household  equipage,  for  the  dainties  or  lux 
uries  of  food,  or  for  any  unnecessary  gratification ; 
but  to  make  a  wise  distribution  of  it  among  objects 
of  benevolence,  whether  the  poor  and  distressed 
directly  about  me,  or  the  dark  and  benighted  souls 
all  over  the  world;  reserving  so  much  as  a  wise 
regard  to  the  interests  of  my  immediate  dependents 
may  require ;  —  my  knowledge,  when  I  know  sin 
ners  are  pressing  to  ruin,  to  endeavor  to  bring  them 
to  repentance ;  when  I  know  Christians  are  cold  and 
worldly,  to  endeavor  to  warm  their  hearts,  wake 
them  to  duty,  and  give  them  an  impulse  heaven 
ward  ;  when  I  know  the  result  of  any  measures  will 
be  prejudicial  to  the  interests  of  religion,  acting 
always  discreetly  and  carefully,  to  point  out  the  evil, 
and  attempt  its  stay,  and  to  increase  my  knowledge 
by  every  possible  means,  in  things  that  have  a  bear 
ing  on  the  destiny  of  man,  the  glory  of  God,  or  the 
salvation  of  the  world;  —  and  I  consecrate  my  all 
—  help,  Lord  —  can  I  do  it?  Have  I  counted  the 
cost  ?  Will  my  after-life  bear  witness  to  a  consecra 
tion  entire,  and  never  disregarded  or  broken  ?  How 
weak  I  am!  Help  me,  dear  Saviour,  not  only  to 
write,  but  to  keep  this  last,  and  each  particular,  of  my 
setting  apart  myself  to  thy  service :  yes,  I  do  it  —  I 
make  a  dedication  of  my  ALL.  Henceforth,  fare  thee 
well,  vain  world !  Welcome,  Cross !  I'll  take  thee 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  43 

up,  and  bear  thee  through,  strifes,  through  sneers, 
though  death  be  my  portion.  Come,  Spirit  of  heaven ! 
come,  take  up  thine  abode  in  my  heart.  I  would 
make  room  for  thee  there.  I  would  cherish  thee  as 
the  apple  of  my  eye,  suffering  nothing  to  grieve 
thee,  or  cause  thee  to  leave  me.  Begone,  Pride, 
Anger,  Envy,  Selfishness,  with  all  your  train!  the 
blest  Spirit  comes  —  make  room.  Thou  Holy  Dove ! 
come,  and  rest  on  me.  I  would  be  meek  as  thou,  as 
innocent,  as  pure. 

"  This  act  of  consecration  is  to  be  in  force  to-day, 
to-morrow,  next  year,  while  I  live,  in  death,  and 
after  death  —  to  all  eternity.  I  henceforth,  in  what 
ever  I  have  not  heretofore,  stand  before  the  world  a 
Christian;  a  stranger  and  sojourner  here;  as  one 
who  is  not  of  this  world,  but  as  one  whose  heart  and 
treasure  are  laid  up  in  heaven ;  and  I  will  await  the 
hour  of  death  with  a  calm  resignation,  following  the 
example  and  doing  the  will  of  my  Saviour,  till  he 
calls  me  away,  to  give  me  my  crown  of  everlasting 
glory. 

"  Resolving  to  read  this  considerately  and  prayer 
fully,  at  least  once  a  week,  and  praying  the  Lord  to 
enable  me  to  keep  it,  or,  if  it  be  not  entire,  one  more 
entire,  I  subscribe  my  heart  and  name  to  it. 

"  S.  JUDD,  JR. 

"  YALE  COLLEGE,  Jan.  26,  1833." 

To  HIS  YOUNGER  BROTHER,  H L, 

Who  was  residing  at  the  old  place  in  Westhampton. 

"  YALE  COLLEGE,  Jan.  23,  1833. 

..."  But  you  have  no  one  to  call  you  up  in  the 
morning.  No,  that  voice  you  used  to  hear  is  hushed  ; 


44  COLLEGE   LIFE. 

that  inquisitiveness  to  see  that  all  was  right,  no  longer 
makes  you  particular ;  that  peevishness,  as  you  used 
to  think  it,  troubles  you  no  more.  He  sleeps  in  the 
dust.  But  shall  we  not  let  his  example  live,  and 
influence  us  day  by  day  ?  His  precepts  were  good, 
his  carefulness  praiseworthy ;  and  shall  we  not  regu 
late  some  of  our  actions  thereby  ?  Oh !  he  is  dead ; 
I  can  hardly  realize  it.  And  shall  I  never  see  him, 
or  meet  his  welcome  smile,  or  shake  his  aged  hand 
again  ?  This  reflection  starts  the  big  tear,  and  I  can 
but  weep  as  I  think  of  it.  The  grave  covers  the 
mortal  remains  of  our  dear  grandfather;  but  his 
name  and  virtues  will  never  be  obliterated  from  our 
memory ;  and  his  spirit,  we  trust,  dwells  with  his 
Maker  above." 

Further  on,  under  the  same  date,  he  shows  his 
sense  of  the  insufficiency  of  knowledge  alone  to  give 
the  happiness  he  sought. 

"  "Would  you  enter  upon  the  vast  field  of  human 
learning,  the  farther  you  advance,  the  wider  it  spreads 
out  before  you.  You  are  climbing  a  mountain  whose 
height  is  endless.  Peak  on  peak  will  arise  on  your 
view.  One  surmounted,  another  is  before  you.  There 
is  no  end. 

"  I  would  not  discourage  human  learning.  But 
the  subject  is  so  vast,  investigation  is  attended  with 
so  much  uncertainty,  and  one  is  so  obliged  to  thread 
his  way  through  clashing  theories  and  conflicting 
opinions,  that  I  would  say  to  one  who  can  content 
himself  with  a  farmer's  life,  and  with  such  know 
ledge  as  is  indispensable  to  our  happiness,  particularly 
that  of  the  Bible,  in  the  hope  of  one  day  seeing  that 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  45 

which  is  secret  brought  to  light,  —  to  such  a  one,  I 
would  say,  be  contented. 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  dear  brother,  from  experience, 
advancement  in  learning  of  itself  does  not  make  me 
happy.  I  am  no  more  satisfied  now  than  when  I  first 
entered  Hadley  Academy.  And  were  it  not  that  one 
day,  I  hope,  by  what  I  now  learn,  to  spread  farther 
the  news  of  His  salvation  whom  above  all  others  I 
love,  I  would  quit  college  to-day. 

"  Riches,  favor,  worldly  honors,  human  learning, 
are  like  the  fabled  Syrens,  in  whose  embrace  we 
revel,  and  are  delighted  awhile  ;  but,  if  they  do  not 
destroy  our  souls,  .they  soon  leave  them  to  disquie 
tude,  desolation,  and  misery.  But  there  is  divine 
learning  which  satisfies  the  soul,  and  will  satisfy 
for  ever." 

To  HIS  SISTER-IN-LAW,  E.  W.  J. 

In  which  appear  his  efforts,  even  then,  to  solve  the  problem  of  the  salvation  of 
children. 


COLLEGE,  Jan.  28,  1833. 

"  'Tis  in  social  prayer-meetings  we  knit  the  bonds 
of  brother  or  sister-hood  more  closely.  'Tis  there 
we  catch  a  mutual  flame  that  burns  along  the  road. 
'Tis  there  we  begin  and  cement  a  union  that  shall 
never  end. 

"  I  can  assure  Miss  G.  that  I  am  not  studying  for 
the  Baptist  or  for  any  other  denominational  ministry, 
but  for  the  Christian  ministry. 

"I  am  sorry  youvhave  so  little  faith  in  children's 
conversions.  This  much  seems  to  be  true,  that,  when 
they  are  able  to  understand  the  nature  of  conversion, 


46  COLLEGE    LIFE. 

they  can  be  truly  converted,  and  will  endure  to  the 
end.  But,  when  they  are  not  able  to  understand  the 
nature  of  it,  how  can  they  experience  conversion? 
And  on  what  principle  of  the  Bible  or  common  sense 
will  they  be  damned  ? 

"  I  think  that",  if  children  can  understand  conver 
sion,  they  can  also  be  made  to  know  what  it  costs  to 
be  a  Christian.  The  world  and  its  charms,  and  its 
emptiness  too,  also  the  treacherousness  of  their  hearts, 
should  be  set  before  them,  and  likewise  the  heavenly 
world  and  its  charms  and  its  fulness,  and  hell  and 
its  misery.  And  if  they  can  understand  this  subject 
fully,  surely  they  can  choose  whjch  they  will,  and 
persevere  in  the  choice.  The  evil  is  here.  Children, 
by  nature  and  education,  are  taught  to  feel,  that  to 
look  pretty,  to  dress  well,  to  excel  companions,  to  be 
gay  and  happy  in  the  world,  and  so  forth,  are  the 
chief  end  of  man.  Just  alter  this  state  of  things, 
bring  down  eternal  things  to  their  understanding  and 
feelings,  let  a  child  know  that  a  few  short  years  set 
us  afloat  on  the  ocean  of  eternity,  and  all  things 
earthly  will  pass  away,  —  I  say,  let  them  know  and 
feel  these  things,  let  parents,  teachers,  and  guardians 
constantly  teach,  and  live  themselves,  in  view  of 
these  things,  and  I  think  there  is  but  little  danger  of 
children's  '  taking  in  the  bewitching  world '  as  they 
grow  older;  for  they  learn  to  set  a  true  estimate 
upon  it." 

To  HIS  YOUNG  SISTEK,  A.     . 

"YALE  COLLEGE,  Feb.  8,  1833. 

"  I  would  ask,  as  a  far  more 

important  question,  what  proficiency  you  are  making 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  47 

in  the  school  of  Christ?  The  lessons  which  he 
teaches  are  not  like  those  of  arithmetic  and  gram 
mar,  which  affect  the  head  only ;  but  are  lessons  in 
humility,  meekness,  faith,  holy  love,  and  holy  zeal, 
and  affect  the  heart  and  life.  You  have  not  been 
long  in  this  school,  but  long  enough  to  have  made 
great  advancement  in  the  divine  knowledge  which  it 
teaches.  Persons,  after  attending  this  school  awhile, 
are  very  apt  to  grow  weary,  to  be  remiss  in  their 
attendance,  and  not  half  get  their  lessons.  Oh,  how 
cruel  it  is  that  we  should  slight  our  blessed  School 
master  so,  who  has  been  at  infinite  pains  to  establish 
a  school,  the  only  object  of  which  is -to  make  us 
wise  for  our  own  present  and  eternal  happiness ! 

"  You  will  recollect  that  the  teachings  of  the  Bi 
ble  fit  us  not  only  for  a  heaven  hereafter,  but  for  a 
heaven  here  on  earth.  If  all  people  would  be  meek 
and  lowly  in  heart,  gentle  in  disposition,  patient  in 
tribulation,  ready  to  forgive,  mild  in  temper,  ready 
to  assist  others,  of  truly  polite  manners,  courteous 
and  obliging,  do  you  not  think  the  world  would  be 
a  heaven  begun?  Let  us  aim  at  cultivating  these 
inestimable  graces,  these  dispositions  of  mind,  which 
assimilate  ours  to  the  character  of  angels ;  which 
make  us  like  our  blessed  Saviour.  We  should  never 
be  fretful,  impatient,  or  overbearing,  though  a  brother 
or  sister,  a  father  or  mother,  or  any  one,  should 
request  of  us  to  do,  or  should  themselves  do,  any 
thing  which  crosses  our  own  convenience  or  pleasure. 
Christ  never  was,  and  we  never  should  be.  We 
have  but  few  years  at  most  to  live,  and  soon  the 


48  COLLEGE    LIFE. 

attractions  of  the  scenes  of  time  will  be  lost  in  the 
awful  grandeur  of  the  scenes  of  eternity." 

TO    HIS   SlSTER-IN-IAW,   E.    W.   J. 

"  YALE  COLLEGE,  April  4,  1833. 

"This  is  a  misty,  gloomy  night;  but  such,  you 
know,  is  the  very  element  of  revery  and  contempla 
tion.  Dark  clouds  hang  over  the  face  of  the  hea 
vens.  The  moon  and  stars  are  gone :  their  faint 
light  can  scarce  show  the  late  traveller  his  path. 
This  reminds  me  of  the  veil  that  extends  between 
us  and  eternal  things.  Oh,  if  it  could  be  withdrawn, 
what  glories,  what  beauties,  what  soul-enrapturing 
scenes,  would  burst  upon  the  view!  The  ineffable 
glory  of  the  Son  of  God,  clothed  in  loveliness  and 
compassion  to  the  humble  believer,  but  in  wrath  and 
terror  to  the  guilty  sinner,  would  be  revealed.  The 
New  Jerusalem,  with  its  golden  streets,  its  gates  of 
pearl,  would  appear  adorned  with  a  beauty  and  mag 
nificence,  which  fancy  with  all  her  powers  can  never 
reach. 

"  Since  I  was  with  you,  I  have  read  my  Bible 
more,  and  felt  more,  as  I  have  turned  leaf  after  leaf, 
that  the  Almighty  Jehovah  was  speaking.  With  the 
eye  of  spiritual  discernment,  I  have  been  enabled  to 
discover  the  application  of  various  promises,  and 
have  applied  them.  This  has  given  me  strength  and 
boldness  in  prayer,  and  implicit  reliance  on  the  good 
ness  and  mercy  of  God,  and  lit  up  in  my  soul  a 
flame  of  holy  love.  Often  in  secret  on  my  knees  in 
prayer,  I  have  felt  a  holy  transport,  a  sweet  peace, 
that  I  would  not  exchange  for  the  wealth  of  Indies, 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  49 

for  the  sceptre  of  empire ;  blissful  prelude,  I  trust, 
of  the  time  when  no  sin  shall  embitter  our  enjoy 
ments,  and  *  not  a  wave  of  trouble  roll  across  my 
peaceful  breast.' " 

Finding  it  very  difficult,  with  the  greatest  econ 
omy  in  all  respects,  to  obtain  the  means  of  defraying 
his  expenses  at  college,  Sylvester  decided  to  pursue 
the  regular  studies  by  himself  at  home,  the  last 
half  of  his  Freshman  year.  During  this  time,  a 
conflict  began  to  arise,  with  considerable  violence, 
between  his  reason  and  his  received  faith.  In  try 
ing  to  reconcile  the  former  to  the  latter,  sceptical 
feelings  were  evolved  which  greatly  distressed  him, 
and  from  which  he  shrunk  back  with  horror. 

To  A.  H. 

"NORTHAMPTON,  June  23,  1833. 

"  You  are  a  very  watchful  Mentor,  and  I  am 
sorry  that  your  Telemachus  is  not  so  docile  as  he 
might,  and  perhaps  ought  to  be.  You  are  a  very 
discreet  adviser,  hold  a  gentle  rein ;  but  he  is  apt  to 
feel  the  bit,  and  knows  that  entire  obedience  alone 
will  secure  gentle  treatment. 

"  I  take  my  station  daily  by  the  north  chamber 
window.  Here  I  sit  and  muse  in  my  own  solitude, 
annoyed  by  no  bell,  no  tutor's  call,  or  fear  of  the 
black  mark.  Here  I  become  wrapt  in  the  story  of 
Helen  and  Priam,  laugh  at  the  fun  of  Horace  or  am 
half  enticed  by  his  sensuality,  or  plunge  in&  the 
depths  of  Euclid.  Love  !  how  strange  a  thing  it  is  ! 
As  you  remarked  going  to  B.,  it  rules  the  world. 

5 


50  COLLEGE    LIFE. 

Yes,  little  naked  Cupid,  with  his  bow  and  arrow, 
effects  a  mightier  conquest  than  all  the  crested  myri 
ads  of  ancient  times,  or  all  the  artillery  of  modern 
days.  We  see  this  abundantly  substantiated  in  our 
classic  reading.  I  speak,  of  course,  as  one  who 
stands  upon  an  eminence,  and  gazes  upon  the  busy 
world  below ;  wonders,  remarks,  but  keeps  himself 
aloof.  What  a  sight  you  have  daily  to  gaze  upon ! 
Why,  any  one,  but  you  and  I,  would  feel  that  he 
was  on  enchanted  ground,  and  would  tread  lightly. 
But  you  and  I,  so  wise,  so  experienced,  look  on  in 
cold  indifference.  If  I  don't  get  me  engaged  first,  I 
want  you  to  select  for  me  the  most  suitable  of  your 
heaven-born  pupils.  The  wife  makes  the  man.  If 
you  make  the  wife,  you  may  make  me.  So  don't 
despair  yet." 

To  HIS  COLLEGE  CHUM. 

"NORTHAMPTON,  Aug.  12,  1833. 

"  Dear  Friend  I.  —  How  do  you  do  ?  How  are 
you  enjoying  yourself  these  long  summer  days  ?  I 
doubt  not  you  will  say  my  days  are  passing  gaily 
and  happily.  But  there  must  be  quite  a  contrast 
between  the  present  and  last  winter,  when  we  used 
to  hang  the  old  blankets  round  the  stove.  The  sun, 
I  think,  must  'bate  in,  all  in  a  fury,'  as  a  Paddy 
says,  to  your  chamber.  And  this  reminds  me  how 
pleasantly  I  am  situated.  I  enjoy  the  luxury  of  a 
large  ^chamber,  with  windows  on  two  sides,  through 
which  the  air  circulates  freely,  and  shade-trees  all 
around.  And  more,  you  must  be  hauled  out  of  bed, 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  51 

nolens  volens,  at  five.  I  sleep  as  long  as  I  please. 
You  must  be  hurried  off  to  recitation  at  the  precise 
hour,  be  subject  to  a  tutor's  intrusion  into  your 
room,  &c.  &c.;  all  which  things  I  am  happily  rid  of. 
I  go  where  I  please,  study  when  I  please,  get  my 
lesson  perfect  as  I  please,  and  am  altogether  my  own 
man.  But  I  have  had  a  hard  summer.  The  first 
part  of  it  was  passing  most  happily,  when  I  got 
poisoned.  God  only  knows  how.  It  aifected  me 
terribly.  The  sickness,  in  consequence,  broke  up  all 
my  plans  and  resolutions,  broke  up  my  studies,  and 
too  much  of  my  religious  devotion.  I  am  not  syste 
matic  in  any  thing ;  and  all  things,  of  course,  are  at 
loose  ends.  The  disease  still,  in  a  diminished  de 
gree,  hangs  about  me.  I  know  not  that  I  shall  ever 
get  wholly  rid  of  it.  But  the  Great  Disposer  of  all 
events  will,  I  doubt  not,  glorify  himself  in  me. 

"  I  have  many  esteemed  friends  here.  But  they 
are  not  just  the  ones  to  say  every  thing  to,  and  go 
everywhere  with.  I  was  made  indeed  for  society. 
But  there  are  few,  I  think,  who  can  make  more 
agreeable  companionship  with  solitude  than  myself. 
So  you  need  not  suppose  my  solitary  hours  are 
woful  ones. 

"  I  have  a  little  garden,  where  I  spend  some  of 
my  morning  hours.  I  find  an  occasional  ride  very 
pleasant.  My  prospects  for  unalloyed  earthly  feli 
city  were  never  brighter  than  at  the  commencement 
of  the  summer,  and  my  hours  seemed  winged  with 
enjoyment ;  but  that  saucy  poison  got  hold  of  me, 
and  made  terrible  havoc.  Religion  can  solace  me  in 
my  sorrows,  can  heal  the  wounds  which  disappoint- 


COLLEGE    LIFE. 

ment  has  made,  and  make  me  my  happy  self  again ; 
and  to  her  I  would  fain  apply.  .  .  . 

"  If,  —  and  you  see  I  but  repeat  what  I  have  often 
said,  —  if,  I  say,  the  things  which  are  commonly 
believed  by  Christians  with  reference  to  heaven  and 
hell  are  true,  immutable  truths,  what  exertion  can  be 
too  great,  what  self-denial  too  severe,  what  agony  too 
intense  ?  Who  would  pronounce  a  man  a  fanatic 
for  being  all  excited  to  pull  a  sleepy  neighbor  from 
a  burning  house  ?  And  who  will  sneer  at  and  de 
nounce  those  who  manifest  a  little  zeal  at  most,  in 
saving  poor  blinded  mortals  from  the  fires  of  an 
interminable  hell?  Let  Christians  be  reasonable 
men.  Let  them  tear  their  creed  to  tatters,  scatter 
their  Bible  to  the  four  winds,  call  hell  a  delusion, 
and  heaven  a  lie,  or  else  act  up  to  their  belief. 
What !  exchange  the  everlasting  crown  of  glory  for 
fame's  fading  laurels,  and  the  felicities  of  eternity 
for  the  fleeting  joys  of  time !  Oh,  is  it  not  madness  ? 
Who  will  do  it?  Will  you?  Will  I?  Or  will  we 
see  others  do  it,  and  be  as  indifferent  as  when  we 
see  a  woman  peddle  her  eggs  for  snuff?  But  I  will 
not  amplify.  I  was  only  thinking  of  what  strange 
material  man  is  made,  —  man,  who  boasts  of  his 
reason,  his  sense,  his  forecast ;  who  prides  himself 
on  acting  according  to  the  dictates  of  his  reason,  and 
yet  plays  the  fool  most  egregiously." 

SOPHOMORE    YEAR. 

Again  at  college,  and  entered  on  Sophomore  year, 
he  thus  writes  — 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  53 

To   HIS   MOTHEE. 

"  YALE  CO'LLEGE,  Nov.  7,  1833. 

.  ..."  I  received  to-day  a  prettily  bound  Virgil, 
English,  edition,  bearing  this  :  — 

'SYLVESTER  JTJDD, 

'  Ob  operam  Latine  scribendo  feliciter  novatam,  hoc  volumen 
Virgilii  opera  complectum,  adjudicaverunt  examinatores  Berkleiani. 
'  Quod  tester,  «  JEREMIAS  DAY.' 

"  If  never  before,  now  at  least,  I  know  what  it  is 
to  be  pressed  for  time.  Every  hour  is  demanded 
long  before  it  comes.  If  the  days  were  double  their 
length,  they  would  all  be  occupied.  But,  though 
my  thoughts  are  so  much  confined  here,  they  occa 
sionally  creep  out  of  their  shell,  and  look  towards 
home.  Blessings  are  doubly  prized  when  lost ;  and 
home  is  doubly  dear  when  absent.  However,  I  am 
happily  situated  here,  more  so  than  last  year. 

"  I  was  a  little  surprised  not  to  receive  a  special 
token  of  remembrance  from  the  dear  brothers  and 
sisters  at  home,  when  I  received  the  box ;  as  I 
expected  a  letter  from  each  of  them.  Hope  they 
have  not  forgotten  their  absent  brother,  and  will 
write  soon.  Thanksgiving  is  coming  on  soon.  I 
should  rejoice  to  be  at  home,  but  shall  content  myself 
here.  .  .  . 

"  Do  write  me  as  often  as  you  can.  Sensible  how 
great  the  task  is,  your  letters  are  the  more  valuable. 

"  Your  ever  affectionate,  though  perhaps  you  think 
too  fitful  and  unstable,  son, 

"  SYLVESTER." 

5* 


54  COLLEGE    LIFE. 

To  THE  SAME. 

» 

"  YALE  COLLEGE,  Dec.  5,  1833. 

"  My  dear  Mother,  —  Your  '  token '  was  received 
yesterday.  I  am  highly  rejoiced  at  receiving  the 
gift,  but  still  more  so  in  the  thought  that  my  mother 
is  devoted  to  my  interest  and  happiness.  The  con 
tents  of  the  box  remind  me  of  Thanksgiving  seasons 
at  home ;  the  cake  especially,  which  is  like  that  you 
always  make  on  such  occasions.  Hard  study,  like 
hard  work,  makes  one  hungry  :  mother  may  suppose, 
then,  of  course,  that  it  is  very  pleasant  to  resort  to 

a  little  buttery,  as  indeed  it  is.  ...  But  H i  and 

P n,  what  has  become  of  them  ?  Have  they 

forgotten  me?  I  looked  the  papers  all  over  care 
fully  twice,  but  could  find  no  'From  P n,' 

'  From  H i,'  and  was  quite  disappointed.  Was 

H i  off  playing  with  the  boys,  or  P n  with 

the  girls  ?  I  do  not  understand  what  it  means,  and 
would  like  to  have  the  matter  explained.  I  have 
been  expecting  letters  from  the  little  ones  for  a  long 

time ;  but  none  have  come.  Has  P n  forgotten 

that  she  promised  to  write  me  '  certain,  true  '?.... 

"  Neither  death  nor  severe  sickness  has  come 
nigh  us.  But  can  we  always  live  ?  Who  shall  be 
taken  first  ?  Is  it  a  brother  or  a  sister,  or  one  of  our 
dear  parents  ?  Is  it  I  ?  But  I  can  say,  though  I 
walk  through  the  dark  valley,  yet  will  I  not  fear." 

The  winter  vacation  of  this  year  he  spent  in 
Hartford,  where  was  going  forward  a  general  *  revi 
val  of  religion.'  Throwing  himself  into  its  interests, 
and  nerving  himself  to  meet  its  doctrines,  he  sue- 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  55 

ceeded  in  throwing  off,  for  a  while,  the  sceptical 
tendency  which  had  come  over  him,  and  returned  to 
college  full  of  the  revival-spirit. 

To  HIS  BROTHER  H- L. 

"  TALE  COLLEGE,  Feb.  2,  1834. 

.  .  .  .  "  You  are  not  called  to  the  joys  and  privi 
leges  of  the  children  of  God,  without  also  being  called 
to  partake  of  their  trials  and  labors.  You  must 
work;  you  must  fight.  The  Christian's  life  is  a 
warfare ;  his  whole  life  is  the  scene  of  action 

"  You  have  come  into  the  kingdom  at  an  auspicious 
moment.  The  great  wheels  of  revolution,  moral,  po 
litical,  and  religious,  are  beginning  to  move.  In  the 
church,  erroneous  doctrines,  false  views,  antiquated 
prejudices,  that  have  rested  with  a  mountain's  weight 
on  all  its  energies,  are  beginning  to  be  torn  away. 
....  I  could  ask  you  a  great  many  questions  about 
particulars  and  individuals ;  but  they  are  summed 
up  in  this  :  How  is  religion  in  H.  ?  " 

To  HIS  SISTER  A. 

"  YALE  COLLEGE,  March  20,  1834. 

.  .  .  .  "  There  can  be  no  doubt  about  the  duty  of 
talking  personally,  on  the  subject  of  religion,  to  your 
companions.  But  how  shall  you  do  it  ?  Take  proper 
times,  be  discreet,  be  mild,  and,  above  all,  show  a 
spirit  overflowing  with  love  for  their  souls.  You 
must  be  in  the  habit  of  conversing  with  them,  not 
only  saying  something  to-day,  while  there  is  excite 
ment,  but  at  all  times.  In  order  that  your  words 
may  take  effect,  your  whole  life  and  actions  must 
correspond  to  what  you  say." 


56  COLLEGE    LIFE. 

To  HIS  MOTHER. 

"YALE  COLLEGE,  March  8,  1834. 

"  Dear  Mother,  —  I  am  informed  that  the  Lord  is 
graciously  reviving  his  work  in  Northampton.  I 
need  not  say  that  this  excites  in  me  great  joy  and 
thankfulness ;  and  has  stirred  me  up  to  greater  im 
portunity  of  prayer,  that  the  influences  of  the  Spirit 
may  be  felt  throughout  the  whole  town ;  and  particu 
larly  that  my  friends,  those  connected  by  the  nearest 
earthly  ties,  may  become  subjects  of  the  work.  ...  I 
hardly  know  what  to  say  with  respect  to  little  brother 

and  sister,  H i  and  P n.     They  are  not  too 

young  to  become  Christians,  decided  Christians.  .  .  . 
Ministers  rarely  preach  to  children.  School-teachers 
are  not  apt  to  be  faithful.  .  .  .  My  vacation  commences 
the  last  week  in  April.  I  look  forward  to  its  recur 
rence  with  interest,  as  the  time  when  I  shall  meet 
again  with  those  I  love,  and  when  I  shall  be  able  to 
throw  in  my  little  strength  to  aid  the  cause  of  reli 
gion  in  Northampton." 

To  HIS  BROTHER,  C.  P. 

(Same  date.) 

"  Dear  Brother,  —  Permit  me  to  say,  that  the 
speculations,  philosophical,  metaphysical,  rational,  or 
whatever  they  may  be,  of  your  last  letter,  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  great  subject  before  us.  The 
object  of  my  last  to  you  was  to  incite  you,  by  motives 
and  arguments,  to  enter  with  your  whole  soul  into  the 
work  of  saving  souls.  It  was  not  my  aim  to  discard 
philosophy  or  Franklin.  None  can  have  a  greater 
respect  for  one  or  the  other,  in  their  proper  places, 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  57 

than  I  have.  I  regard  Franklin  as  one  of  the  great 
est  men  of  his  times.  In  unsophisticated  common 
sense,  in  wisdom  and  shrewd  insight  into  men  and 
things,  he  had  few  equals.  He  is  the  boast  of  his 
country,  and  will  be  the  pride  of  posterity.  But 
*  there  is  no  other  name  given  under  heaven,  whereby 
men  can  be  saved,  but  the  name  of  Jesus.'  Take 
care  that  you  do  not  wrap  yourself  in  your  subtle 
abstractions  about  the  nature  of  things,  without 
making  a  proper  use  of  things  as  they  are.  It  may 
prove  the  winding-sheet  of  your  soul." 

To  HIS  BROTHER,  H L. 

"YALE  COLLEGE,  July  2,  1834. 

....  "This  is  a  term  which  is  always  noted  for 
its  want  of  a  high  tone  of  religious  feeling.  Still 
I  believe  there  are  some  who  feel  for  the  cause  of 
Zion,  and  are  willing  to  pray  and  labor  for  her 
upbuilding.  There  is  a  general  apathy  in  the  city 
and  in  all  this  region.  .  .  . 

"  Mr.  is,  in  many  respects,  to  be  esteemed ; 

but  his  manners,  in  respect  to  gentleness,  suavity, 
and  his  disposition  in  respect  to  opinionativeness,  I 
think  might  be  improved.  He  reminds  me  of  my 
self.  He  is  a  complete  picture  of  a  Judd.  I  derive 
a  double  lesson  from  it:  LI  learn  the  folly  of 
expecting  perfection  here  below ;  2.  I  learn  how 
my  own  actions  appear  in  the  sight  of  others.  Take 
these  improvements  of  the  subject,  so  far  as  they  are 
applicable,  to  yourself.  It  gets  to  be  second  nature 
with  some  people  to  be  positive  and  overbearing. 


58  COLLEGE    LIFE. 

This  makes   them    appear   conceited   and   haughty. 
But  I'll  not  enlarge  on  a  disagreeable  subject.  .  .  . 

"  How  do  you  succeed  in  your  studies  ?  Is  the 
walk  pleasant?  Do  you  get  acquainted  with  the 
citizens  of  Hadley  ?  A  thousand  pleasing  and  varied 
recollections  spring  into  my  mind  at  the  thought  of 
Hadley.  The  year  and  little  more,  that  I  spent 
there,  was  certainly  the  most  happily  passed  of  any  in 
my  life.  I  began  my  course  there,  just  after  a  long 
series  of  disappointments  and  vexations.  It  was  a 
course,  too,  on  which  my  heart  had  long  been  set, 
and  one  just  suited  to  the  bent  of  my  mind.  My 
daily  companions  were  of  the  most' agreeable  sort; 
and,  though  now  scattered  and  far  distant,  their 
remembrance  is  pleasant.  I  presume  there  is  no 
danger  that  you  will  not  study  enough.  But  you 
may  grow  proud,  and  lose  your  spirituality.  Here 
is  great  danger.  Take  care." 

To    HIS   MOTHEB. 

"  YALE  COLLEGE,  July  24,  1834 

.  .  .  .  "  Need  I  ask  if  your  bosom  is  filled  with  pity, 
sympathy,  and  love  for  the  poor  black  man  ?  Truly 
he  needs  all  this.  He  needs  more.  He  needs  that 
we  stoop  and  raise  him  to  the  high  moral  and  reli 
gious  character  which  we  ourselves  have  attained.  .  .  . 
The  religious  state  of  things  in  college  and  the  city 
is  not  so  favorable  as  last  term.  My  own  current  of 
feeling  has  been  more  interrupted  and  changeable 
than  then.  Still  it  is  good  to  love  and  serve  our 
Master  in  heaven.  We  are  determined  to  advance 
his  cause  in  our  hearts  and  around  us.  My  natural 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  59 

temperament,  you  know,  mother,  is  ardent,  and  sub 
ject  to  change.  This  occasions  me  some  trouble.  I 
fear  sometimes  going  too  far  in  too  exclusive  devo 
tion  to  one  object.  I  am  sorry  that  there  should  be 
any  decline  of  religious  feeling  in  Northampton.  It 
need  not  be.  We  can  always  feel." 

To  HIS  SISTER  A. 

(Same  date.) 

.  .  .  . ( '  Calculate  not  too  strongly  on  obtaining  hap 
piness  by  any  change  of  circumstances  in  your  future 
life  ;  for  instance,  going  away  to  school,  and  the  like. 
I  do  most  solemnly  assure  you,  that  you  will  be  dis 
appointed.  I  have  wished  a  hundred  times,  within 
two  years,  that  I  was  living  again  in  the  sunny 
scenes  of  my  childhood.  But  considerations  of  duty 
will  not  suffer  me  to  harbor  such  feelings,  and  they 
make  me  contented  where  I  am." 

The  sentiment  of  the  last  paragraph  was  no  doubt 
occasioned  by  the  religious  difficulties  in  his  own 
mind ;  from  which  he  had  suffered  with  increase 
of  knowledge,  and  which  had  returned  upon  him 
after  the  early  part  of  this  year.  Yet  he  had  revealed 
them  to  no  one,  and  had  made  up  his  mind  to  press 
forward  in  all  the  duties  his  professed  faith  demanded. 
With  this  came  the  torturing  feeling  that  he  was 
playing  the  hypocrite.  Then,  in  his  zeal  to  act  up 
consistently  with  what  he  considered  the  implied 
claims  of  the  Calvinistic  system,  he  was  considered 
by  some  of  his  class-mates  as  officious,  as  going  too 
far ;  and  thus  he  became  somewhat  unpopular,  and 


60  COLLEGE    LIFE. 

experienced  additional  trouble.  He  was  at  times 
tempted  to  give  up  the  whole  matter  of  going  on 
through  college,  especially  as  his  pecuniary  embar 
rassments  were  so  great. 

JUNIOR    YEAR. 

But  still  he  persevered;  and,  to  get  money  for 
helping  to  pay  his  expenses,  he  passed  the  winter  of 
his  Junior  year  in  teaching  at  Middletown,  Conn.,  at 
the  same  time  keeping  up  with  his  class.  Soon  after 
his  establishment  here,  he  writes  — 

To  HIS  FATHER  AND  MOTHER. 

"  MIDDLETOWN,  Dec.  13,  1834. 

"You  will  feel  somewhat  interested  to  know  how 
I  get  along  in  my  new  situation.  Eveiy  thing  has 
gone  well,  so  far.  .  .  .  The  number  of  my  scholars  this 
week  has  been  thirty ;  their  ages  from  twenty -two 
to  fourteen.  I  teach  every  thing,  as  a  matter  of 
course  in  schools  of  this  character.  A  tolerable  ac 
quaintance  with  most  of  the  branches  pursued  enables 
me  to  pay  sufficient  attention  to  my  classes,  without 
taking  up  much  of  my  time  out  of  school,  so  that  I 
have  most  of  my  mornings  and  evenings  to  pursue 
my  college-studies.  I  hope  to  be  able  to  prepare 
myself  in  what  will  be  absolutely  necessary  for  the 
college-examination  next  spring. 

"  I  do,  I  must  own,  feel  quite  weary,  after  having 
kept  my  tongue  going  in  asking  questions,  explain 
ing,  remarking,  and  so  forth,  for  three  hours  on  the 
stretch,  with  scarce  a  moment's  intermission.  But 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  61 

Mrs.  W.  furnishes  me  with  a  first-rate  dish  of  tea ; 
and  after  supper  I  feel  quite  refreshed,  and  prepared 
for  study." 

To  HIS  COUSIN,  G.  L. 

"  YALE  COLLEGE,  April  5,  1835. 

"  Dear  Cousin,  —  I  own  I  have  neglected  you. 
Great  pressure  of  duties  will  be  a  sufficient  apology. 
I  returned  from  Middletown  last  week,  where  I 
passed  my  winter  much  more  pleasantly  than  I  could 
have  anticipated  in  so  laborious  an  avocation. 

"  But  I  come  to  other  subjects.  We  are  enjoying 
a  most  delightful  revival  of  religion.  Professors  are 
very  humble  and  prayerful ;  sinners  are  being  con 
verted  almost  daily,  and  great  solemnity  is  on  the 
minds  of  those  who  are  still  impenitent.  The  work 
is  attended  with  little  excitement ;  but,  like  the  still 
water,  'tis  very  deep.  The  whole  aspect  of  things, 
in  and  about  college,  is  changed.  .  .  . 

"  We  shall  probably  meet  in  a  few  weeks,  when  I 
can  communicate  with  you  on  a  thousand  subjects, 
about  which  I  have  no  time  to  write  now;  —  am 
pressed  with  studies  and  other  duties." 

During  Junior  year,  his  mind  was  ill  at  ease  as  to 
the  theological  basis  of  his  religion ;  yet  he  shut  up 
his  troubles  within  his  own  breast.  He  became  more 
than  usually  reserved,  and  correspondence  with  his 
friends  was  less  frequent. 


62  COLLEGE    LIFE. 

SENIOR    YEAR. 

Just  •  entered  upon  his  last,  his  senior  year  in 
college,  still  secretly  troubled  and  unsettled  as  to 
his  creed,  and  sensible  of  the  unaccountable  appear 
ances  in  himself  to  which  it  occasionally  led,  he  thus 
writes  — 

To  HIS  MOTHER. 

• 

"  YALE  COLLEGE,  Oct.  24,  1835. 
\ 

"  My  dear  Mother,  —  I  suppose  that  you  have 
been  expecting  a  letter  from  me  these  several  days. 
But  I  have  not  had,  neither  have  I  now,  any  news 
of  particular  interest  to  communicate.  College  has 
become  rather  an  old  story.  I  will  only  say  that 
I  find  myself  more  agreeably  situated  this  year  than 
in  previous  years.  .  .  . 

"When  I  think  what  I  have  passed  through,  I 
am  sure  no  consideration  would  induce  me  to  enter 
Freshman  again.  Still  the  ordeal  is  most  necessary, 
and  highly  salutary  in  every  point  of  view.  Some 
never  learn  to  control  themselves,  until  they  have 
been  absolutely  controlled  by  others.  A  man  in 
college  learns  his  proper  station,  and  loses  those 
notions,  both  of  inferiority  and  superiority,  which 
he  may  previously  have  indulged.  It  is  not  an  un 
pleasant  reflection  that  I  am  so  near  through  my 
college-course,  or,  at  least,  that  I  am  so  near  through 
the  fatigues  of  college-life ;  for  there  is  something 
in  the  prospect  before  me,  at  which  I  shrink  back.  I* 
must  be  soon  thrown  upon  my  own  resources,  must 
take  stations  of  responsibility,  must  be  looked  up  to 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  63 

as  a  counsellor  and  guide,  and  must  be  bereft  of  that 
support,  protection,  and  guidance,  which  a  young 
man  in  college,  under  his  own  father's  roof,  so  con 
stantly  receives.  Reflections  of  this  sort  make  me 
most  wish  that  time  would  stop  awhile,  and  let  me 
stay  where  I  am  ;  for,  just  now,  every  thing  goes 
pleasantly  as  I  could  wish,  and  more  so  than  I  ever 
expect  again  in  this  world.  I  find,  mother,  that  I 
am  getting  into  rather  a  loose  reverie,  and  will  return 
to  matter-of-fact  things 

"  Talked  with  C.  P.  about  temperance.  He,  of 
course,  goes  the  full  length.  It  may  be  that  bene 
volence  demands  that  a  man  should  entirely  abstain 
from  invigorating  drinks ;  but,  if  it  does,  it  also  de 
mands  that  we  dress  in  sheepskins,  in  order  to  send 
the  surplus  money  of  our  clothing  to  the  heathen.  .  . 

"  The  religious  appearances  in  college  at  present 
are  very  favorable ;  more  so  than  usual  at  the  com 
mencement  of  the  first  term." 

To    HIS    SlSTEK-IN-LA-W,    E.    W.    J. 

"YALB  COLLEGE,  Nov.  15,  1835. 

"  Dear  Sister  E.  —  "When  I  contemplate  writing 
you,  I  feel  that  I  must  unlock  the  secret  chambers 
of  my  soul,  and  present  to  you  a  transcript  of  what 
passes  therein.  This  I  cannot  do.  It  would  do  you 
no  good,  nor  will  it  benefit  me.  Every  one  possesses 
his  own  secrets,  which  he  keeps  concealed  in  his  own 
bosom,  revealing  them  to  no  mortal  eye,  and  only 
waiting  till  the  light  of  the  judgment-day  shall  beam 
in  upon  them.  It  is  well  that  a  veil  is  hung  over 
the  hearts  of  all.  For,  if  it  were  not  so,  who  could 


64  COLLEGE    LIFE. 

be  happy,  even  in  the  presence  of  his  dearest  friends  ? 
We  should  distrust  every  one,  and  the  tranquillity 
of  society  would  be  at  an  end.  There  is  perhaps 
nothing  peculiar  in  my  case.  My  nerves  are  nicely 
strung,  and  I  may  feel  more  keenly  than  some.  I 
know  I  am  more  apt  to  express  what  is  going  on 
within.  I  felt  deeply  and  sadly,  the  morning  I  left 
Northampton ;  partly  because  I  was  going  away  from 
those  I  loved,  and  was  about  to  leave  them  in  the  en 
joyment  of  so  much  happiness  which  I  could  not  stay 
to  be  a  sharer  in ;  partly  because  I  had  incurred  the 
censure  of  those  whose  good  opinion  I  so  much 
valued;  partly  for  other  reasons,  of  which  I  will 
not  trouble  you  with  a  recital.  You  thought,  and 
so  did  mother,  that  I  was  odd.  If  I  did  thus  act,  it 
was  only  to  divert  myself  under  the  pressure  of 
reflections  that  were  every  day  weighing  me  to  the 
earth.  These  did  not  originate,  as  you  perhaps  con 
jectured,  in  : — .  No,  it  was  something  else. 

Nothing  in  particular,  —  partly  of  a  religious  nature. 
"  We  are  occupied,  this  year,  with  a  variety  of 
agreeable  pursuits ;  and  time  passes  so  rapidly  and 
so  smoothly,  that  I  should  hardly  note  its  lapse.  I 
have  been  here  more  than  six  weeks.  It  seems  but 
a  moment.  I  could  almost  wish  that  senior  year 
might  last  for  ever." 

About  the  same  time,  he  writes  his  brother  H 1 : 

"You  recollect,  perhaps,  that  I  appeared  rather 
low-spirited  during  some  parts  of  the  vacation.     This 

had  nothing  to  do  with ,  but  was  a  religious 

a/air." 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  65 


To  HIS  SISTER  A. 

"YALE  COLLEGE,  April  10,  1836. 

.  .  .  .  "  You  are  very  happy  at  home,  receiving  the 
instructions  of  your  father,  helping  your  mother, 

comforting  the  poorly  brother  H 1,  and  enjoying 

the  thousand  little  delights  of  the  family  circle. 

P n,  too,  has  some  one  to  sleep  with.  Poor 

little  thing !  how  cold  she  was !  How  lonely  and 
sad  —  like  a  dove  without  its  mate  ! 

"I  presume,  dear  sister,  that  your  feelings  are 
right ;  but  the  expression  should  be  right  also.  Your 
countenance  should  be  lighted  up  with  the  sympa 
thizing  emotions  of  the  heart.  It  is  of  little  use 
that  your  internal  emotions  are  right,  while  the 
external  expression  is  of  an  opposite  character.  Be 
cautious  and  attentive  on  this  subject,  and  recollect 
there  is  great  danger  of  deceiving  yourself,  from  the 
fact  that  you  know  a  great  deal  better  how  you  feel, 
than  how  you  appear. 

"  Make  bosom-friends  of  our  own  family.  If  they 
are  not  to  be  trusted,  who  are  ?  If  they  cannot 
sympathize  with  you,  who  can  ?  Be  friendly  to  all. 
Make  friends  of  few,  and  confidants  of  still  less.  Be 
a  friend  to  yourself.  Stand  erect  in  your  own  inde 
pendence  ;  but  never  refuse  to  associate  with  others 
because  you  fear  them.  This  is  servility.  Yes, 
*  open  your  soul ; '  but  take  care,  in  the  first  place, 
who  looks  in ;  and,  in  the  second,  what  you  expose. 
Never  expose  a  weak  spot ;  but  rather  make  show 
of  your  strength,  if  you  have  any.  You  need  not 
expect  to  live  through  life  on.  sentiment :  intellect 

6* 


66  COLLEGE    LIFE. 

and  reason  must  sooner  or  later  be  called  into  action. 
The  perplexing  scenes  of  active  life  will  soon  demand 
your  energies.  Tis  pleasant  to  indulge  our  reveries, 
but  it  is  too  often  a  dangerous  practice.  Toil,  sor 
row,  and  disappointment  are  before  us.  Habits  of 
reverie  do  not  train  up  the  mind  for  the  stern  con 
flict  ;  they  do  not  prepare  it  for  the  grief  and  pain 
that  are  liable  to  overwhelm  us." 

To  HIS  MOTHER. 

"  YALE  COLLEGE,  June  6,  1836. 

"  My  dear  Mother,  —  If  I  have  omitted  too  long 
to  write  you,  you  must  Ascribe  it  to  the  thousand 
little  occasions  of  delay  that  are  constantly  occurring. 
My  visit  at  H.  was,  of  course,  very  pleasant,  and 
more  especially  as  I  found  myself  in  the  midst  of 
many  of  our  dear  family.  I  do  not  know  how  great 
an  occasion  there  may  have  been  for  offering  burnt- 
offerings  ;  but  I  am  sure  our  meeting  was  a  very 
happy  one.  When  I  read  the  letter  from  ~W.,  I  felt 
for  a  few  minutes  quite  *  homesick.'  By  a  longer 
absence,  I  suppose,  I  am  preparing  myself  for  a 
greater  felicity  when  I  do  go  home.  I  am  pleasantly 
situated  this  summer;  board  with  Miss  C.,  spend 
about  two  hours  a  day,  attending  to  recitations.  I 
enjoy  very  much  the  polished  and  literary  society 
of  New  Haven.  The  ladies  are  said  to  be  very 
beautiful 

"My  shirts  suit  exactly.  I  know  you  love  to 
have  your  children  suited,  and  take  indefatigable 
pains  to  accomplish  the  end.  I  am  only  sorry  that 
they  are  so  difficult,  at  times  to  please.  Perhaps 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  67 

their  nicety  is  owing  to  their  education :  it  may  be 
they  have  inherited  some  of  it.  ... 

"  H 1  was  in  doubt  where  to  enter  college :  I 

gave  it  as  my  opinion  decidedly,  that  he  had  better 
go  to  Amherst.  C.  P.  intends  to  enter  here.  I  am 
sure  I  do  not  wish  to  have  three  brothers  of  us 
graduate  at  one  college.  If  three  of  us  graduate,  I 
know  it  will  add  to  our  gratification,  and  also  our 
usefulness,  to  do  so  at  different  colleges.  For  my 
own  part,  I  should  not  wish  to  be  a  class-mate  with 
a  brother.  It  does  not  seem  to  work  well." 

TO   HIS   SlSTEK-lN-LA-W,   E.    W.   J. 

"YALE  COLLEGE,  July  6,  1836. 

"  Dear  Sister,  —  I  have  this  day,  this  hour,  finished 
my  college-course.  I  need  not,  and  I  could  not  if 
I  should  attempt  it,  describe  to  you  my  emotions. 
'Tis  certainly  a  pleasant  thought,  that  fatigue  and 
hard  study  are  over,  at  least  for  the  present.  But 
this  is  a  small  consideration.  The  questions  recur, 
What  have  I  accomplished?  How  am  I  able  to 
meet  the  responsibilities  that  now  rest  upon  me  ? 
Am  I  better  ?  I  am  perhaps  a  little  wiser ;  but  am 
I  better  1  I  dare  not  answer.  'Tis  painful  to  part 
with  class-mates.  Our  examinations  were  closed 
yesterday.  To-day  we  have  listened  to  a  poem  and 
a  farewell  address,  —  both  interesting,  affecting.  Our 
class  is  now  dispersing  for  six  weeks.  We  come 
together  again  at  Commencement,  and  receive  our 
diplomas.  I,  of  course,  shall  remain  here  until  after 
Commencement.  I  have  been  extremely  busy  for 
the  last  six  weeks,  as  you  may  suppose.  I  am 


68  COLLEGE    LIFE, 

obliged  to  spend  about  three  hours  a  day  in  Miss 
C.'s  school,  and  have  been  quite  busy  with  my  own 
regular  studies. 

"  A.  spoke  of  your  visit  (home),  which  I  am  sure 
I  quite  envied  you.  When  I  received  a  line  from 
"W.,  saying  that  you  were  going,  I  felt  for  a  mo 
ment  quite  homesick  ;  but  I  am  soon  to  be  sepa 
rated  still  further  from  the  friends  I  love,  and  must 
extinguish  in  my  heart  the  struggling  emotions  I 
cannot  control.  A  man's  friends  are  always  more 
lenient  and  partial  than  the  world  at  large." 

And  now  the  college-life,  so  ardently  desired,  so 
fondly  anticipated,  comes  to  a  close.  Like  all  hap 
piness  in  prospect,  this  had  failed  to  be  to  the  eager 
student  all  that  he  expected.  Not  that  he  did  not  en 
joy  much ;  not  that  the  mines  of  literature  and  science 
did  not  yield  him  rich  rewards  for  his  toil ;  but,  like 
the  wise  man,  he  found,  that  in  some  respects  "  he 
that  increaseth  knowledge  increaseth  sorrow." 

He  pursued  the  regular  course  of  study  with  great 
avidity,  and  held  a  distinguished  rank  for  scholarship 
and  talent  among  his  class-mates.  He  was  made  a 
member  of  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society ;  and,  in  his 
Sophomore  year,  he  received  the  Berkelian  prize  for 
Latin  composition,  and  also  the  prize  for  English 
composition.  He  again  received  the  prize  for  Eng 
lish  composition  in  his  Junior  year.  At  the  Junior 
Exhibition,  as  well  as  at  his  Commencement,  the 
part  assigned  to  him  was  an  English  oration ;  a  part 
there,  as  elsewhere,  reckoned  a  most  honorable  dis 
tinction. 


COLLEGE    LIFE.  69 

To  reduce  his  expenses  as  much  as  possible, 
besides  spending  part  of  his  Freshman  year  studying 
at  home,  he  sometimes  kept  bachelor's  hall,  and 
boarded  himself;  and  made  his  journeys,  in  vacation, 
on  foot.  He  taught,  more  or  less,  in  schools  in  New 
Haven.  A  kind,  Christian  lady,  Mrs.  Lee,  of  New 
Haven,  for  a  term  or  more,  invited  him  to  the  hos 
pitalities  of  her  house.  Yet  all  this  was  not  sufficient 
to  meet  his  bills  ;  and,  with  his  father's  security,  he 
was  obliged  to  get  a  loan  for  the  balance. 

And  thus,  with  great  effort,  much  self-denial  and 
economy,  a  large  share  of  embarrassment,  and  some 
mortification,  added  to  his  heavy  and  unlooked-for 
inward  struggles,  did  he  make  his  way  through 
college. 


70 


CHAPTER   IV. 

CHANGE   IN  THEOLOGICAL   VIE\V, 


RECAPITULATORY. 

IN  nothing  is  the  high  value  in  which  Mr.  Judd 
held  religious  truth  so  strongly  seen,  as  in  the  dis 
criminating  care  with  which  he  suffered  himself  to 
adopt  new  opinions,  and  the  fears  he  entertained, 
through  a  long  period,  lest,  in  changing  his  religious 
views,  he  should  hazard  every  thing  most  valuable 
in  this  life  and  the  next.  A  person  of  less  delicate 
sensibility  to  the  worth  of  truth  and  religion  would, 
long  before  the  inward  conflict  had  been  so  far  pro 
tracted,  have  gone  over  to  the  other  side,  and  boldly 
announced  his  change  of  position. 

Possessing  naturally  an  inquiring  mind,  and  having 
from  his  earliest  years  been  influenced  by  his  father 
to  think  for  himself,  he  could  not  receive  upon 
trust  any  truths,  doctrines,  or  dogmas  whatever,  that 
might  be  presented  to  him,  without  an  examination 
of  the  evidences  for  himself.  He  had,  in  early 
years,  been  puzzled  in  reconciling  some  of  the  doc 
trines  of  that  system  of  religious  faith  under  which 
he  had  been  educated.  As  his  mind  matured,  and 
his  sphere  of  thought  enlarged,  his  difficulties  and 
embarrassments  of  this  kind  increased ;  so  that  the 


CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS.  71 

happiness,  even  of  his  first  year  in  college,  was 
marred  by  doubts  and  perplexities  arising  from  this 
source. 

In  this  year,  he  thus  writes  in  his  Journal  :  "I  had 
half  resolved  to  go  away,  abandon  all  I  know,  and 
become  a  sailor  on  the  seas,  or  an  inhabitant  of  the 
wilderness.  For  what?  To  seek  for  happiness  I 
have  lost  ?  No  :  that,  I  fear,  is  for  ever  gone.  But 
to  rid  my  friends  of  what  must  be  a  canker  to  their 


Religion  was  all  in  all  with  him,  permeating  the 
inmost  recesses  of  his  soul.  His  natural  sensibility 
to  its  influences  was  very  great  ;  and,  under  the  power 
of  the  teachings  and  measures  to  which  he  had  been 
subjected,  he  had  yielded  himself,  heart  and  life,  to 
what  he  supposed  its  claims.  Love  to  God  reigned 
in  his  spirit  ;  delight  in  his  works  penetrated  his 
whole  being.  Co-extensive  with  these  were  love  to 
his  fellow-men,  and  a  burning  desire  that  they  might 
be  saved  from  the  miseries  of  the  impenitent  in  the 
world  to  come.  Having  received  from  the  cradle 
the  idea  that  all  come  into  the  world  in  a  state  of 
depravity,  naturally  hating  God  and  goodness,  and 
loving  sin  and  all  unholiness,  and  of  course  needing 
an  entire  and  necessarily  an  instaneous  conversion 
to  save  them  from  irremediable  and  eternal  destruc 
tion,  —  in  true  consistency  with  this  creed,  as  has 
already  been  shown,  he  threw  all  his  energies  of 
mind  and  body  into  the  work  of  saving  the  souls 
of  the  unconverted. 

In  this  spirit,  from  the  time  at  which  he  dated 
his  own  conversion,  he  began  to  labor  ;  and,  with 


7£  CHANGE   IN    THEOLOGICAL    VIEWS. 

the  same  zeal  for  the  salvation  of  his  fellow-men, 
he  entered  college.  How  earnestly  he  labored  and 
prayed  for  the  conversion  of  his  fellow-students ; 
with  what  untiring  energy  he  sought  for  a  continued 
revival  of  religion  among  them,  and  in  other  places 
in  which  he  was  interested,  may  be  seen  from  the 
preceding  chapter.  Almost  racked  with  efforts  for 
the  promotion  of  this  all-absorbing  object,  and  at  the 
same  time  tormented  with  doubts  as  to  the  truth 
of  the  system  according  to  which  he  was  acting, 
his  nervous  susceptibility  increased,  a  quickened 
self-consciousness  was  induced,  his  general  health 
suffered,  and  he  sank  at  times  into  deep  despon 
dency  r  But,  faithful  to  the  natural  instincts  of 
his  heart,  he  labored  on,  imparting  nothing  of  this 
inward  conflict  to  his  friends,  from  an  unwillingness 
to  give  them  pain ;  and  was  deterred  from  making 
known  the  doubts  forced  upon  his  mind,  to  his 
instructors  or  fellow-students,  lest  the  cry  of  heresy 
should  burst  forth  upon  him,  in  answer  to  his  honest 
inquiries  and  conscientious  scruples. 

Thus,  that  college-life,  to  which  he  had  looked 
forward  with  such  longing  desires  and  such  joyous 
expectations,  passed  on.  And  thus  unhappy,  un- 
harmonized,  and  at  times  on  the  very  verge  of  scep 
ticism,  yearning  for  sympathy,  and  yet  not  free  to 
impart  his  mental  anguish  to  any  one,  he  closed  his 
collegiate  course. 

TEMPLETON. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  same  year,  1836,  in  order 
to  obtain  the  means  of  liquidating  the  debts  he  had 


CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS.  73 

incurred  for  his  education,  and  of  providing  means 
for  the  further  prosecution  of  his  studies,  —  after 
having,  through  some  misunderstanding,  met  with 
a  severe  disappointment  in  regard  to  a  situation  as 
teacher  in  Westfield  Academy,  —  he  took  charge  of 
a  private  school  in  Templeton,  Mass.  There,  for 
the  first  time,  he  began  to  have  intercourse  with 
that  denomination  of  Christians  termed  Unitarians, 
and  came  to  understand  more  fully  their  distin 
guishing  views.  Previously,  he  had  been  very  little 
acquainted  with  Unitarian  works  or  Unitarian  preach 
ing  ;  but  he  now  perceived  that  the  deductipns  of  his 
own  unbiassed  mind,  and  the  conclusions  towards 
which  he  found  it  verging,  were  much  in  harmony 
with  those  received  by  this  body  of  Christians. 

New  troubles  now  were  let  in  upon  his  afflicted 
spirit.  Difficulties  were  rife  between  the  Calvinistic 
and  Unitarian  societies.  He  was  under  the  patronage 
of  the  former,  and  was  supposed  by  them  to  be 
committed  to  their  interests.  His  own.  heartfelt 
convictions  sided  with  the  latter,  and  all  his  sympa 
thies  were  tending  in  that  direction. 

To  increase  the  embarrassment  of  his  situation,  he 
had  many  family  relatives  in  this  place.  He  thus 
writes  — 

To  HIS  BBOTHER  J.  W. 

"TEMPLETON,  Jan.  13,  1837. 

"About  half  of  our  friends  are  Unitarians,  and 
the  other  half  Orthodox.  This  is  the  only  thing 
that  is  disagreeable ;  yet  they  treat  me  kindly.  Still 
the  Unitarians  cannot  be  very  friendly  towards  the 


74  CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS. 

school.  These  religious  divisions  are  paltry  things, 
and  engender  strife  and  wicked  feelings  enough  to 
sink  the  whole  church  to  perdition." 

To  HIS  SISTER-IN-LAW. 

"  TEMPLETON,  Feb.  29,  1837. 

"  My  feelings  have  been  so  multifarious,  I  could 
not  give  you  an  intelligible  history  of  them.  They 
have  been  so  vacillating,  that  you  would  hardly  be 
able  to  recognize  their  identity  from  one  moment  to 
another.  More  than  this,  I  do  not  wish  to  disclose 
all  my  heart.  Such  feelings  !  I  should  tremble  to 
pen  them,  and  you  would  be  pained  to  read  them. 
You  know  too  well  my  disposition.  You  know 
too  well  how  my  thoughts  are  apt  to  play  their 
pranks,  for  me  to  recapitulate.  I  seek  for  no  relief, 
no  improvement,  until  I  have  ( shuffled  off  this  mor 
tal  coil.' 

"  I  suppose  you  have  been  made  acquainted  with 
the  state,  of  society  in  Templeton.  I  have  been 
employed  by  the  Orthodox  party ;  but,  alas  for  me ! 
I  am  too  liberal. 

"  I  am  getting  to  be  a  very  poor  correspondent. 
My  heart  is  as  warm  with  affection  for  my  friends, 
as  the  most  enthusiastic  could  wish ;  but  I  am  not 
always  in  a  mood  to  converse  with  them.  I  am 
obliged  often,  from  fear  of  wounding  their  sensibi 
lities,  to  restrain  my  words.  I  would  not  be  odd, 
and  I  know  I  am  not  original.  There  are  recesses 
in  every  one's  heart,  where  he  loves  sometimes  to 
retire  and  shut  out  the  world.  Perhaps  I  visit  these 
too  often,  and  tarry  too  long,  till  familiarity  has  made 


CHANGE   IN    THEOLOGICAL    VIEWS.  75 

seclusion  sweet ;  and  the  world  has  less  strong  hold 
upon  my  interests.     All  this  is  possible." 

About  the  time  of  leaving  college,  he  was  invited 
to*  fill  a  Professorship  in  Miami  College,  Ohio.  In 
reference  to  this,  he  thus  writes  — 

To  HIS  BROTHEB  J.  W. 

"  TEMPLETON,  March  24,  1837. 

"  I  am  desirous  to  explain  a  little  relative  to  my 
declining  the  offer  to  go  to  the  West.  I  did  not 
come  to  my  decision,  without  the  most  deliberate  and 
prayerful  consideration ;  and  the  disappointment  to 
my  friends  could  not  have  exceeded  the  pain  in  my 
own  feelings.  The  amount  of  my  objection  to  taking 
the  proposed  situation  may  be  contained  in  a  word : 
I  was  not  willing  to  be  placed  under  those  restric 
tions  in  religious  thought  and  feeling  which  would 
necessarily  be  imposed  upon  me  in  the  contemplated 
circumstances. 

"  Too  long  has  the  world  groaned  under  the  bond 
age  of  superstition,  intolerance,  and  bigotry.  I  am 
not  going  to  enter  upon  a  crusade  against  mankind ; 
but  I  cannot,  I  dare  not,  lend  my  influence  to  bind 
more  closely  the  yoke ;  neither  am  I  willing  to  yield 
myself  to  its  thraldom.  God  made  man,  made  you, 
made  me,  made  all  men,  for  high  and  noble  ends. 
He  made  us  in  his  own  image,  to  reflect  his  own 
glory  before  the  eyes  of  the  universe.  A  spiritual 
nature  was  given  us,  by  which  to  mount  up,  as  on 
eagles'  wings,  to  an  elevated  existence,  to  an  assi 
milation  with  the  Deity.  We  dash  in  pieces  our 


76  CHANGE   IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS. 

heavenly  image ;  we  sink  from  our  high  estate ;  we 
become  the  slaves  of  one  another.  Yes,  man  is  the 
most  abject  slave  of  his  fellow-man.  He  dare  not 
think  for  himself;  he  dare  not  speak  or  act  for  him 
self;  and,  more  than  this,  becomes  the  slave  rof 
himself.  An  unnatural  sense  of  right  and  wrong 
causes  him  to  tremble  at  his  own  footsteps,  and 
startle  at  his  own  breath.  Delusions,  that  settle  like 
the  pall  of  death  upon  the  soul,  have  come  down 
from  many  generations.  Their  antiquity  gives  them 
authority,  and  the  assumed  sanction  of  Deity  begets 
for  them  reverence.  None  dare  question  their  truth ; 
or,  if  he  doubt,  he  is  condemned  if  he  speak.  I 
boast  of  no  superior  penetration ;  but  there  are  some 
things  so  plain,  that  he  who  runs  may  read.  I  can 
claim  no  superior  boldness  ;  but,  if  I  have  not  cour 
age  enough  to  attack  the  absurdities  of  others,  I  am 
sure  I  have  too  much  obstinacy  to  be  led  by  their  per 
versions.  .  .  .  Away  with  faint -heartedness !  Let  the 
cry  of  heresy  come.  Let  persecution  come.  Only 
let  truth,  God's  own  truth,  prevail.  I  anticipate  the 
day  when  truth  shall  ride  forth,  conquering  and  to 
conquer.  I  cannot  say  when ;  I  only  pray  for  nerve 
and  resolution  to  urge  on  the  chariot-wheels.  I 
cannot  rest.  The  Lord  has  been  leading  me  by  ways 
that  I  thought  not  of.  He  has  sorely  tried  me,  to 
see  if  I  would  trust  him.  I  hope  he  will  make  me 
a  fit  instrument  for  accomplishing  his  work.  I  do 
not  seek  independence  of  action  for  its  own  sake. 
No,  no.  It  is  always  easier  to  float  with  the  current. 
But  alas !  'twas  'floating  me  down  to  dark  despair.' 
"These  considerations  have  long  been  pressing 


CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS.  77 

upon  me :  at  times  they  have  made  me  wretched. 
Convictions  were  overwhelming  me;  but  I  would 
not  yield  to  them,  and  then  came  the  struggle.  I 
thought  of  what  my  friends  would  think,  and  then 
came  a  deeper  agony.  O  yes,  that  I  must  disappoint 
the  expectations  of  my  dearest  friends,  —  this  has 
been  my  bitterest  anguish.  But  God  has  sustained 
me  in  my  resolutions,  and  I  trust  he  will  aid  me  in 
the  execution.  Feeling  and  thinking  thus,  you  see 
I  could  not  become  connected  with  an  Old  School 
Presbyterian  College  in  Ohio.  May  I  never  repent 
my  decision ! " 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  It  was  misery  to  live  so. 
It  was  more  :  he  felt  it  to  be  moral  dishonesty.  To 
go  on  as  he  had  done,  he  felt  to  be  hypocrisy ;  to 
avow  his  true  position,  a  step  for  which  also  he 
did  not  feel  prepared,  was  to  break  up  his  school. 
Much,  therefore,  as  he  needed  the  pecuniary  aid 
which  it  might  afford,  he  resigned  the  situation,  and 
returned  to  Northampton  in  the  spring  of  1837, 
disappointed,  disheartened,  broken  down  almost,  un 
der  the  difficulties  of  his  situation. 

THE    GREAT    CRISIS. 

A  great,  an  inevitable  crisis  he  saw  approaching. 
The  ranks  of  Calvinism,  in  which  he  had  been  quite 
conspicuous,  he  must  now  desert,  and  go  over  to  the 
enemy.  The  connection  existing  between  the  asso 
ciations  of  his  earlier  years  and  his  present  state  must 
be  destroyed.  A  change  of  religious  sentiment  was 

7* 


78  CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS. 

then,  even  more  than  now,  looked  upon  almost 
as  the  Hindoo  regards  a  loss  of  caste.  From  his 
church,  if  not  for  excommunication,  he  had  to 
look  for  severe  censure.  Among  the  friends  of  his 
youth,  he  might  expect  marked  coolness.  His  own 
family  he  knew  would  be  greatly  grieved,  and  would 
feel  in  him  their  fondest  expectations  disappointed. 
The  dearest  ties  of  his  heart  must  be  sundered.  In 
short,  he  felt  that  he  would  be  looked  upon  by  all 
as  weak-minded,  an  apostate  from  the  true  faith,  an 
outcast  almost  from  the  hopes  of  heaven.  He  thus 
utters  himself  in  his  Journal :  — 

"  May  6,  1837. 

"Go  to  the  Unitarian  Church.  Oh!  'tis  misery 
to  think  of  it.  It  is  an  open  step,  which  I  have  not 

yet  taken.  Truth,  thy  way  is  a  thorny  one 

Walked  out  in  the  evening.  In  Nature's  temple  I 
love  to  worship,  whose  dome  is  the  sky,  whose  pil 
lars  are  the  mountains. 

" '  Had  rather  see  me  in  my  grave.'  I  ask  not 
your  pity;  I  ask  not  your  charity  even:  only  do 
not  grieve.  But  the  emotion,  —  this  unmans  me. 
One  tear  weighs  more  than  a  folio  of  arguments." 

"June  24. 

"My  spirits  are  gone,  my  vigor,  my  ambition. 
What  will  raise  me,  I  know  not.  The  future  is  one 
black  atmosphere  of  night.  Its  heavy  darkness  is 
reflected  upon  the  present." 

The  conflict  with  himself,  endured  so  long  un 
shared,  had  so  channelled  itself  even  into  his  physical 
being,  that  he  was  now  almost  prostrated  in  body 


CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS.  79 

as  well  as  in  mind ;  and,  in  this  condition,  no  doubt 
he  took  exaggerated  views  of  the  trials  of  his  situa 
tion,  and  suffered  a  keener  anguish  than  he  otherwise 
would.  His  family  friends  knew  something  of  the 
change  in  his  views,  but  were  not  aware  of  the  extent 
to  which  they  were  about  to  lead.  He  dreaded  the 
full  denouement  to  them  and  to  the  world.  Moan 
ing  around  the  house,  he  would  go,  with  hardly  life 
enough  to  drag  himself  up  and  down  stairs,  some 
times  humming  in  heart-piercing  tones,  "  Oh,  where 
shall  rest  be  found  ?  "  or  "  Hast  thou  not  one  bless 
ing  for  me,  O  my  Father  ? "  He  would  say  he  envied 
the  cartman  in  the  street,  the  blacksmith  at  his  forge, 
the  shoemaker,  anybody  whose  life  was  so  private 
that  he  could  enjoy  his  own  opinions  in  obscurity 
and  peace.  If  he  could  be  any  thing  but  a  clergy 
man,  or  could  so  modify  his  views,  that,  with  any 
degree  of  consistency,  he  could  preach  in  the  denomi 
nation  in  which  he  had  been  educated,  it  would  be 
a  relief.  But  no,  it  would  not  do.  He  must  go 
through  the  ordeal,  and  abide  its  scathings.  He 
must  be  true  to  his  own  conscience,  his  own  convic 
tions  of  duty,  let  come  what  would  of  earthly  loss 
or  reproach. 

As  an  expose  of  his  position,  and  a  history  of  the 
change  which  had  come  over  him,  he  about  this  time 
prepared,  for  the  private  use  of  his  father's  family,  a 
manuscript,  which  he  entitled  "  Cardiagraphy."  It 
is  dated  Northampton,  June,  1837 ;  and,  twelve 
years  later,  he  writes  a  friend,  in  relation  to  it,  "  On 
none  of  the  points  have  my  views  undergone  any 
change."  Extracts  from  this  will  put  the  whole 


80  CHANGE   IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS. 

matter  in  a  truer  light  than  can  be  thrown  upon  it 
in  any  other  way.  He  introduces  the  subject  as  fol 
lows  :  — 


"  CARDIAGRAPHY. 

"  I  write  to  relieve  myself  in  expressing  my  feel 
ings,  and  to  gratify  my  father's  family,  who  may 
wish  to  know  me  better. 

"The  sketch  will  be  a  medley,  because,  in  the 
ceaseless  tide  of  feeling,  it  is  impossible  to  detain  it 
sufficiently  long  to  give  a  connected  account. 

"  Some  parts  may  seem  to  contradict  others ;  not 
but  that  I  am  as  nearly  a  unity  as  it  is  possible  for  a 
human  being  to  be,  but  because  there  are  shadings  of 
thought  and  feeling,  for  which  there  are  no  corre 
sponding  niceties  of  words.  Hence,  language  may 
be  at  variance,  where  the  heart  harmonizes 

"  I  seem  to  be  changed.  In  some  respects  I  am  ; 
but  in  a  higher  sense,  I  am  not.  So  far  as  relates  to 
the  fundamental  point  of  all  religion,  —  that  which 
ought  to  be  the  great  end  of  energy,  intellectual  and 
physical ;  that  which  antedates  and  supersedes  creeds, 
formularies,  communions,  schools ;  that  which  is 
immutable  amidst  all  other  changes,  to  wit,  the  hap 
piness  of  man  and  the  glory  of  God,  —  I  declare  I 
am  conscious  in  myself  of  no  change.  Men  have 
always  differed,  in  all  ages,  as  to  the  means,  that  is, 
as  to  the  best  mode  of  belief  and  action,  by  which 
this  end  can  be  secured.  The  same  man,  at  different 
periods  of  his  life,  embraces  different  views. 

"  The    circumstances    of    men,    from    education, 


CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL    VIEWS.  81 

temperament,  government,  location,  are  perpetually 
changing;  and  it  can  hardly  be  supposed,  that  the 
same  creed,  explained  in  the  same  way,  will  be  best 
adapted  to  all.  As  one,  advancing  in  the  study  of 
man,  becomes  more  acquainted  with  the  nature  of 
his  race,  his  views  of  the  means  alluded  to  will 
undergo  some  modification.  But  as  it  regards  the 
great  end  before  him,  God's  glory  and  man's  happi 
ness,  the  good  man  will  never  change  his  views. 
This  will  be  his  pole-star,  by  which  he  will  guide 
his  course  for  ever,  though  compelled  to  tack  and 
veer  as  storms  and  currents  sway. 

"  From  these  considerations,  I  can  better  answer 
the  question,  have  I  changed?  I  can  only  reply, 
that  if  ever  I  had  this  great  end  in  view,  if  ever  I 
was  actuated  by  the  high  motive  of  doing  good  to 
man,  and  glorifying  my  God,  I  am  now.  From  my 
earliest  years,  I  have  been  susceptible  of  impressions 
relative  to  the  glory  of  Him  who  made  the  universe, 
and  who  seeks  its  happiness,  and  relative  to  the  hap 
piness  of  my  fellow -beings.  And  now  that  my  mind 
and  heart  are  more  mature ;  now  that  I  can  more  fully 
appreciate  the  worth  of  happiness,  and  can  more 
clearly  conceive  of  it  in  its  highest,  noblest,  purest 
and  most  imperishable  exercise,  —  I  am  conscious  of 
no  diminution  of  this  susceptibility,  but  would  hope 
that  its  strength  is  increased,  its  action  is  more  de 
cided,  and  its  discriminations  are  more  delicate. 

"  "Will  you,  my  friends,  call  me  changed,  —  sadly, 
dangerously,  greatly  changed  ? 

"  In  regard  to  other  particulars,  do  I  love  God  ? 
Do  I  delight  in  his  service  ?  I  can  only  say,  if  ever 


82  CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS. 

I  experienced  these  feelings,  I  do  now.  These  are 
the  holiest  and  most  delightful  emotions  that  can  fill 
our  hearts;  and  why  should  I  neglect  or  repress 
them?  But  you  will  say  my  course  of  religious 
action  is  changed.  That  is  true  to  a  certain  extent. 
But  you  must  be  aware  that  courses  of  religious 
action  have  almost  infinitely  varied  in  all  ages  and 
all  parts  of  the  religious  world.  There  is  no  iden 
tity  here;  and  it  is  unreasonable  to  fix  upon  one 
course  as  the  only  test  of  religious  character. 

"Yet,  while  I  am  thus  conscious  in  myself  of  no 
alteration  in  respect  to  the  fundamental  motive  of 
action  and  the  chief  point  of  character,  I  am  too  well 
aware  that  you  possibly,  and  the  world  certainly,  will 
consider  me  greatly  changed. 

"  I  allude  frequently  to  consciousness,  and,  as  I 
think,  with  truth  ;  though  I  might  infer,  from  what 
some  of  you  have  said,  that  the  evidence  derived 
from  this  source  was  not  to  be  depended  upon.  But 
I  am  not  mistaken  when  I  affirm,  that  it  is  a  primary, 
incontrovertible,  unequivocal  source  of  evidence.  It 
is  the  sense  by  which  we  take  cognizance  of  the 
world  within,  as  by  the  other  senses  we  become 
acquainted  with  the  world  without.  These,  as  the 
eye  and  ear,  sometimes  deceive  us.  Nor  is  it  sur 
prising;  for  the  external  world  is  limitless  in  its 
extent,  and  infinite  in  the  variety  of  its  objects. 
Still,  we  rely  most  implicitly  upon  these  senses,  and 
never  allow  ourselves  to  be  contradicted  when  we 
have  them  for  a  witness.  Now,  consciousness  is  the 
eye  of  the  soul ;  and  the  soul,  as  a  sphere  of  vision, 
is  circumscribed  in  its  extent  and  in  its  objects.  The 


CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS.  83 

soul  is  one,  though  presenting  a  variety  of  aspects. 
By  carefully  looking  within,  we  may  soon  survey 
the  whole  ground  of  observation ;  and  whatever  we 
thus  see,  we  are  sure  exists.  If  we  are  conscious 
we  love  or  hate,  are  envious  or  liberal,  are  angry  or 
pacific,  are  pained  or  pleased,  we  are  sure  we  have 
these  feelings ;  nor  could  all  the  counter-testimony 
in  the  world  shake  our  conviction.  It  is,  indeed, 
true  that  consciousness  sometimes  deceives  us ;  but 
the  aberrations  of  this  sense  may  be  corrected  as 
easily,  and  I  think  much  more  easily  than  those  of 
the  other  senses,  by  the  aid  of  the  judgment  and 
by  further  examination. 

"  By  the  necessities  of  my  nature,  then,  I  am 
compelled  to  rely  upon  my  consciousness.  In  so 
doing,  I  aim  to  act  with  the  Christian  philosopher ; 
who,  discovering  in  the  laws  of  his  nature  the  laws 
of  God,  makes  it  his  high  purpose,  in  all  things,  to 
obey  them.  He  who  knowingly  transgresses  the 
laws  of  his  nature,  rebels  against  God.  You  will 
see,  then,  that  that  religion,  that  doctrine,  that 
proposition  of  any  sort,  which  contradicts  my  con 
sciousness,  must  be  contradictory  to  the  laws  of  my 
nature,  contradictory  to  reason,  contradictory  to  God. 
It  opposes  all  true  religion,  for  that  is  founded  in 
God;  it  is  impious,  it  is  absurd.  It  is  not  'mys 
terious  '  and  '  incomprehensible : '  it  is  absolutely  false. 
I  cannot  estimate  the  wickedness  of  the  man  who 
freely  embraces  it ;  and  will  only  add,  that,  though 
it  may  present  many  attractions,  its  'house  will  be 
found  in  the  way  of  hell,  going  down  to  the  cham 
bers  of  death.' 


84  CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS. 

"  To  speak  more  immediately  of  my  present  reli 
gious  sentiments.  I  am  emerging,  or  rather  have 
emerged,  from  the  abyss  of  doubt  and  universal 
scepticism.  I  was  infidel  to  what?  To  the  great 
points  of  Calvinism.  But  Calvinism,  it  was  said, 
was  most  assuredly  the  religion  of  the  Bible ;  and 
God  was  the  author  of  the  Bible  and  of  that  religion. 
Here,  then,  was  the  struggle.  The  prejudices  of 
my  education,  the  sermons  I  continually  heard, 
the  authority  of  the  multitude,  of  the  learned,  of 
antiquity,  the  menace  of  everlasting  perdition  that 
hung  over  a  spirit  of  doubt,  had  infused  into  me  a 
nature,  so  to  speak,  which  must  accord  with  Cal 
vinism.  Soon  another  nature,  my  earlier,  original 
nature,  began  to  rise  within  me.  It  asserted  its 
claims  to  supremacy  in  my  heart.  It  uttered  its 
stern  notes  of  remonstrance  and  reprehension  at  my 
self-immolation  on  the  altar  of  prescription.  I  lis 
tened  to  its  voice,  and  felt  that  it  was  the  voice  of 
reason  and  conscience.  But  I  dared  not  think  for 
myself  freely.  I  dared  not  act  independently.  Still 
the  strife  continued.  'Tis  painful  now  to  think  of 
it,  and  still  more  painful  would  it  be  to  give  you  the 
details  of  days  and  weeks  and  months  of  agonized 
conflict.  At  last,  however,  I  did  yield.  My  original 
nature  conquered  its  foe.  But  it  was  not  at  first 
a  victory  of  subjugation,  but  seemingly  of  utter 
extermination.  In  losing  Calvinism,  I  seemed  to 
have  lost  my  Bible,  my  religion,  my  God.  But  an 
unseen  hand  was  guiding  me.  The  Spirit  of  the  true 
God  was  upon  me.  I  was  led  to  examine  my  Bible, 
to  see  what  it  contained.  I  found  my  God  there. 


CHANGE   IN    THEOLOGICAL    VIEWS.  85 

I  was  led  to  look  upon  the  works  of  his  creation, 
the  heavens,  the  earth ;  and  I  found  him  there.  My 
God,  my  Bible,  my  religion,  were  returned  to  me ; 
and  I  was  happy.  I  record  this  with  the  most  pro 
found  gratitude  to  Him  who  is  the  author  of  all 
light,  truth,  and  blessedness. 

"  This  course  of  doubt  was  commenced  with  in 
tensity  four  years  ago,  and  was  protracted,  with 
alternating  influences,  through  three  years  or  more. 
Doubt  seemed  to  have  settled  as  a  disease  upon  me. 
It  was  a  canker-worm  at  my  heart.  My  best  affec 
tions  were  withering  to  their  root.  Nor  am  I  still 
entirely  free  of  its  effects ;  and  indeed  I  can  hardly 
expect  ever  to  be,  so  long  as  I  am  invested  with  my 
frail  mortality. 

"I  have  not  spoken,  nor  will  it  be  embraced  in 
my  present  design  to  speak,  of  all  the  causes,  second 
ary  and  remote,  that  may  have  led  me  to  doubt. 
Some  of  them  were  trifling,  others  of  serious  charac 
ter.  It  was  enough  to  find  myself  in  the  eddies  of 
scepticism,  and  it  is  enough  that  I  have  been  enabled 
to  escape  from  the  apparently  inevitable  destruction. 

"When  I  was  spending  my  college-vacations  at 
home,  you  knew  that  I  was  not  happy.  There  was 
more  than  one  cause  for  this.  Some  of  them  you 
might  have  understood.  But  you  probably  did  not 
imagine,  that  one  great  cause  of  my  despondency  was 
to  be  attributed  to  religious  doubts  and  anxieties. 
A  combination  of  causes  pressed  me  to  the  earth, 
and  my  spirits  were  prostrated  in  the  silent  agony  of 
my  heart.  You  called  me  oad.  But  I  was  only 
odd  to  divert  myself.  I  could  not  be  regular.  I 


86  CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL    VIEWS. 

could  not  have  acted  out  myself,  for  that  would  have 
been  the  bitterness  of  death  to  you  all.  I  loved 
your  happiness ;  therefore  I  did  not  tell  you  my 
miseries  ;  for  I  knew  that  you  could  neither  sympa 
thize  with,  nor  relieve  me.  How  much  would  you 
have  been  overwhelmed  with  anguish,  had  I  declared 
to  you  the  deep  darkness,  the  gloomy  disquietudes, 
the  damning  doubts  of  my  own  crushed  heart ! 

"  I  hoped,  though  my  hopes  were  often  dim  as 
night,  —  yet  I  hoped  continually  that  the  day  of  my 
illumination  would  come,  and  joyfully  anticipated 
the  hour  when  I  could  tell  you  all  I  knew  and  all  I 
felt.  I  thought  you  would  rejoice  to  see  the  wan 
derer  return  to  his  father's  house.  Why  should  you 
be  disconsolate,  if  he  seems  in  some  points  to  differ 
from  you  ?  In  the  wide  region  of,  to  him,  untra- 
versed  thought  through  which  he  has  been  obliged 
to  range,  with  attention  painfully  yet  intensely  di 
rected  to  every  object  that  met  his  vision,  are  you 
surprised  if  he  has  learned  something  new  ? 

"  Your  happiness  has  always  been  near  my  heart. 
Forgive  me,  if  in  any  thing  I  have  made  you  grieve. 
I  have  always  been  keenly  sensitive.  I  know  I  have 
not  disciplined  my  sensibilities  as  I  ought.  I  am 
too  easily  irritated  by  trivial  circumstances.  The 
bitterest  trial,  and  indeed  there  can  be  none  bitterer, 
is  to  witness  and  excite  the  solicitudes  of  my  friends. 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  forgotten ;  but  I  wish,  rather 
than  to  be  remembered  with  sorrow,  to  be  cast  into 
your  oblivion.  Though  all  my  Mends  should  choose 
to  abandon  me,  I  should  still  feel  that  I  can  rest, 
with  all  the  calmness  of  love  and  felicity  of  hope, 


CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL    VIEWS.  87 

upon  the  bosom  of  my  God.  Heaven's  mercy,  like 
the  canopy  of  the  skies,  is  a  limitless  expanse ;  and, 
though  I  should  not  see  you  in  body,  and  might  not 
commune  with  you  in  spirit,  I  should  still  feel  that 
you  were  somewhere  sheltered  beneath  it.  But  I 
must  turn  to  other  topics. 

"The  doctrine  of  original  sin  is  the  substructure 
of  Calvinism,  and,  indeed,  of  the  popular  Orthodoxy 
of  the  day.  It  is  the  foundation  of  most  of  the  other 
objectionable  doctrines  that  have  agitated  the  church, 
such  as  infant-damnation,  limited  atonement,  irresist 
ible  grace,  inability,  and  so  forth.  And  it  seems 
strange  to  me,  that  men  should  have  protected  and 
cherished  a  monster,  against  whose  true  offspring 
they  are  so  implacable.  This  doctrine,  in  its  proper 
interpretation,  is  this,  —  that  from  Adam  has  been 
transmitted,  through  all  generations  of  men,  a  sinful 
or  depraved  moral  nature ;  and  that  the  distinguish 
ing  property  of  this  nature,  in  respect  to  God,  is 
to  hate  God,  to  rebel  against  him,  and  to  seek  to 
dethrone  him.  We  are  told  these  are  the  first, 
spontaneous,  natural  feelings  of  our  hearts ;  that 
they  are  increasing  so  long  as  the  object  is  before 
them,  —  enduring  as  long  as  we  endure  ;  that  they 
become  invigorated  by  exercise,  more  depraved  by 
mutual  contact  with  men,  maddened  by  opposition, 
desperate  by  defeat;  till  at  last,  gathered  together 
under  the  eye  of  Him  whom  they  naturally  hate, 
they  burst  out  into  the  full  blaze  of  hell  for  ever. 
There  is  another  form  of  the  doctrine,  which,  while 
it  denies  the  hereditary  defilement,  still  affirms  that 
the  first  and  all  the  subsequent  exercises  of  the  soul 


88  CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS. 

are  sinful,  and  only  sinful.  1  could  have  no  choice 
between  the  doctrines.  You  may  say  that  this  is  not 
a  fair  statement  of  the  doctrine,  —  that  you  are  not 
conscious  of  embracing  such  a  doctrine.  I  fear, 
truly,  that  too  many  are  not  aware  of  the  absurdities 
of  their  own  creed.  But  I  believe  this  is  the  doc 
trine  of  native  defilement,  in  its  naked,  unpruned, 
uncompromised  truth.  A  consistent  Calvinist  must 
admit  this  doctrine,  and  all  the  consequences  that 
legitimately  flow  from  it.  I  do  not  wonder  that  rea 
son  revolts  and  conscience  frowns  at  such  a  principle 
in  religion.  I  do  not  wonder  that  the  Calvinistic 
church,  in  all  periods  of  its  existence,  and  the  Pres 
byterian  and  Congregational  churches  now  are  con 
vulsed  by  it.  I  wonder  rather  that  men  dare  not 
re-assert  their  proper  dignity,  and  rend  asunder  the 
manacles  of  superstition  and  darkness  that  enchain 
them.  I  wonder,  too,  how  Christianity,  with  such 
an  incubus  upon  its  energies,  should  ever  have 
achieved  its  gigantic  triumphs.  On  this  latter  point, 
the  truth  is,  Christianity  is  adapted  to  human  nature ; 
and  men  practically  act  according  to  their  nature, 
though  their  speculative  theology  may  be  contrary 
to  it. 

"When  God  looked  down  upon  the  works  of 
his  creation,  the  heavens,  the  earth,  man,  all  living 
creatures,  he  pronounced  them  good.  I  now  look 
upon  the  sun  and  moon  and  stars,  and  find  them 
adapted  to  good.  I  look  upon  the  earth,  and  find  it 
adapted  to  good :  even  its  hurricanes,  its  earthquakes, 
its  ocean-storms,  are  all  for  good.  I  find  the  beasts, 
the  birds,  the  insects,  all  for  good.  I  look  upon 


CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS.  89 

man  in  his  physical  frame,  and  find  all  adapted  to 
good.  The  eye  is  pleased  with  light,  the  ear  with 
sound,  the  smell  with  odors ;  all  senses  have  their 
appropriate  objects ;  which  objects,  if  rightly  used, 
promote  and  are  essential  to  our  highest  sensual 
happiness.  I  look  upon  the  intellectual  system,  and 
find  it  adapted  to  good.  It  is  surrounded  by  its 
appropriate  objects,  by  which  it  is  ever  won  to  action, 
and  with  which  it  is  ever  delightfully  engaged.  So 
far,  all  conspires  to  good,  and  to  the  highest  happi 
ness  of  man  and  the  glory  of  God.  I  next  turn  my 
eye  to  what  has  been  called  the  chef-d'ceuvre  of  the 
Almighty,  and  the  crowning  glory  of  the  human 
race,  —  the  soul  of  man.  What  a  hideous  spectacle 
am  I  taught  to  behold  !  The  vision  of  horror  flashes 
out  in  one  word :  it  hates,  hates  God,  hates  all  that 
is  good.  I  see  no  adaptation  to  good,  but  only  to 
evil  and  utter  woe.  I  can  hardly  say  that  it  was 
made  to  love ;  for  it  seems  to  be  formed  only  to  hate 
and  be  wretched.  But  what  are  its  objects  ?  What 
shall  it  love,  if  it  can  ?  —  and  God  commands  it  to 
love.  Shall  it  love  God,  the  loveliest  of  all  beings  ? 
It  looks  at  him,  and  hates  with  a  perfect  hatred. 
Shall  it  love  man  ?  But  men  hate  one  another,  and 
with  undying  energies  strive  to  crush  one  another 
in  the  dust.  Shall  it  love  that  which  hates  itself  ? 
Shall  it  love  the  external  world  and  the  brute  crea 
tion  ?  But  these  are  all  made  for  good,  and  to  please 
God,  and  it  must  hate  them  too.'  Do  you  say  it  may 
be  indifferent  to  all  things  ?  No,  that  cannot  be. 
All  our  senses  must  be  active  in  reference  to  their 
appropriate  objects,  either  for  pain  or  pleasure,  for 

8* 


90  CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS. 

love  or  hatred.  The  soul  of  man  must  act ;  it  does 
act.  It  needs  religion,  but  religion  it  hates.  Men 
must  live  together  in  society;  but  the  quenchless 
fires  of  hatred  burn  and  blacken  their  souls.  Man's 
intellect  looks  through  universal  nature,  and  disco 
vers  beauty,  uniformity,  design,  —  in  all  things  a 
God,  and  is  pleased  with  the  discovery.  But  his 
soul,  with  malicious  envy,  looks  at  the  scene,  and 
recoils  in  bitter  hatred.  How  can  it  escape  its 
wretchedness  ?  Can  it  love  its  hatred,  and  be  happy  ? 
But  man  was  made  to  love  the  lovely,  and  he  cannot 
be  happy  while  he  loves  the  hateful.  Besides,  if  he 
can  be  happy  in  loving  the  hateful,  he  would  love 
his  fellow -haters,  and  men  would  form  alliances  with 
the  fiends  of  the  pit,  and,  in  their  mutual  happiness, 
would  plant  a  new  paradise  in  the  regions  of  hell ; 
and  then  '  blasphemies  ascending  to  Heaven '  would 
be  the  requiem  of  their  malignity. 

"  But  who  makes  the  soul  of  man  ?  God.  Human 
agency  is  concerned  in  the  structure  of  the  body ;  but 
God  alone  makes  the  soul.  And  God  commands  the 
soul  of  man  to  love  himself.  What  conclusions  do 
the  premises  of  Calvinism  drive  us  to  about  our 
God !  I  cannot  sketch  them  :  the  thought  is  blas 
phemous.  I  must  be  an  atheist,  and  reject  them  ; 
an  idiot  or  a  madman,  and  admit  them. 

"Unbiassed  man,  in  his  active  emotions,  must 
love  the  lovely,  and  hate  the  hateful ;  or  love  the 
hateful,  and  hate  the  lovely. 

"  Look  into  your  own  hearts,  my  friends,  and  tell 
me,  do  you  find  there  dark  despair,  malignant  hatred, 
insatiable  envy,  bitter  cursings  ?  There  can  be  no 


CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL    VIEWS.  91 

half-way  course.  Whenever  your  feelings  have  been 
enlisted,  it  was  either  to  love  or  to  hate.  Do  you 
say  that  you  loved  the  mercy,  and  hated  the  justice, 
of  God  ?  You  may  have  feared  punishment ;  but  to 
fear  punishment,  and  to  hate  God,  are  two  very  dif 
ferent  things.  Besides,  if  you  had  really  felt  that 
you  deserved  punishment,  you  would  not  hate  God 
for  punishing  you.  If  you  really  felt  that  you  did  not 
deserve  punishment,  you  could  not  have  feared  that 
you  would  have  been  punished.  And  more,  if  you 
had  contemplated  his  character  calmly  and  fully,  you 
must  have  realized,  that,  if  he  was  just  to  punish,  he 
was  as  merciful  to  forgive ;  and  even  more  so,  from 
the  fact  that  he  still  continued  to  you  the  means  of 
grace.  How  could  you,  then,  have  hated  him  ?  Do 
you  say  that  you  still  continued  in  sins,  and  there 
fore  hated  God  ?  You  were  either  happy  in  your 
sins,  or  you  were  not.  If  you  were,  you  could  not 
have  hated  God ;  for  no  man  can  be  exercising  feel 
ings  of  hatred  towards  God,  and  at  the  same  time 
be  happy  in  any  thing.  If  you  were  not,  if  your 
sins  were  a  loathing  to  you,  you  were  in  the  very 
state  to  receive  pardon  from  God;  and  how  could 
you  then  have  hated  him  ?  If  you  were  thoughtless 
about  God,  I  have  nothing  say.  For  the  man  who 
never  thinks  of  God,  knows  not  whether  he  hates  or 
loves  him.  But  you  say  you  spontaneously  hated 
God.  Back  again  upon  all  the  horrors  of  original 
sin !  Is  it  true  that  man's  nature,  before  actual  sin, 
is  adapted  to  hate  his  God  ?  Alas !  alas  !  What 
infatuation  possesses  the  human  mind!  How  has 
man  mistaken  himself!  How  has  he  mistaken  his 


92  CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS. 

God !  O  delusion,  doubly  damned,  that  causes  our 
creed  to  give  the  lie  to  our  consciousness,  and  makes 
the  soul  dig  in  itself  its  hell,  and  then  lie  down  in  its 
own  suffering ! 

"  But  I  turn  from  this  gloomy  prospect.  I  would 
escape  from  these  dark  ages  of  a  deceived  and  deceiv 
ing  theology.  Truth  and  Love,  twin  angels  of  a  better 
dispensation,  are  calling  me  away  to  their  own  bright 
home.  *  God  made  man  in  his  own  image.'  This 
declaration  is  reaffirmed  by  Daniel,  Solomon,  St. 
Paul,  and  St.  James.  The  last  says,  '  Men  are  made 
after  the  similitude  of  God.'  To  discredit  our  Bibles 
is  to  deny  our  God.  To  be  ignorant  of  ourselves 
is  to  enter  upon  the  broad  way  of  all  error  and  all 
delusion.  To  know  ourselves,  and  not  act  according 
to  our  natures,  is  supreme  folly  and  unhappiness. 
To  know  ourselves,  and  yet  willingly  debase  our 
natures,  is  rebellion  against  our  Maker,  and  justly 
exposes  us  to  his  wrath.  God  has  made  us,  and  not 
we  ourselves ;  and  to  speak  freely  of  ourselves  im 
plies  neither  presumption,  self-conceit,  nor  pride. 

"My  soul  looks  upward  to  its  God;  it  sees  his 
perfections ;  it  loves  and  is  happy.  It  looks  upon 
its  fellow-beings,  it  sees  in  them  the  image  of  its 
God ;  it  loves  and  is  happy.  It  looks  over  the  face 
of  nature,  it  sees  everywhere  the  manifestations  of 
its  God ;  it  loves  and  is  happy.  The  soul  craves  a 
pure,  a  godlike  religion.  It  finds  such  in  the  Bible, 
and  knows  the  Bible  is  divine,  and  rejoices  in  its 
possession.  It  looks  upon  Jesus  Christ,  and,  seeing 
in  him  the  counterpart  of  its  God,  rejoices  to  find  its 
God  '  manifest  in  the  flesh ; '  and  that,  amidst  the 


CHANGE   IN    THEOLOGICAL    VIEWS.  93 

. 

many  infirmities  of  our  being,  its  aspirings  after 
conformity  to  its  God  are  assisted  by  a  sensible 
exemplar.  My  soul  seeks  happiness,  and  finds  it, 
where  alone  it  is  to  be  found,  in  the  fulness  of  my 
God.  Man,  discovering  in  himself  the  image  of  his 
God,  learns  the  true  idea  of  his  own  dignity.  I 
abhor  slavery  in  all  its  forms  ;  that  of 'the  body  and 
of  the  intellect,  but  chiefly  that  of  the  soul.  Con 
fidence  is  the  great  bond  of  society,  and  I  learn  the 
true  grounds  of  it.  Man  is  to  be  trusted.  Religion 
is  the  soul  loving  its  God.  I  learn,  then,  in  whatever 
clime  and  by  whatever  name  this  feeling  is  exer 
cised,  there  to  join  the  communion  of  my  own  heart. 
Religion  does  not  consist  in  '  going  to  meeting,'  or 
in  any  formal  exercises.  It  is  the  soul  communing 
with  its  God.  I  would  strive,  then,  to  make  the 
'  world  my  temple,  and  life  itself  one  act  of  devo 
tion.' 

"  These  views  and  feelings,  my  dear  friends,  —  and 
I  have  not  told  you  half,  —  I  delight  to  cherish.  I 
xm.  fixed  in  them.  I  cannot  give  them  up.  They 
are  part  of  my  being.  They  are  within  me  and  of 
me.  They  are  inwrought  into  the  fibre  of  my  soul. 
I  am  conscious  of  them.  I  shall  rejoice  to  live  for 
them,  and  I  would  gladly  die  for  them. 

"  If  they  are  not  founded  in  truth,  then  there  is 
no  religion,  no  God,  no  soul.  The  world  is  an 
enigma.  We  ourselves  are  a  wild  chaos  of  absurdi 
ties.  All  things  are  the  sport  of  a  malignant  chance. 
There  is  no  truth.  We  are  in  a  whirl  of  illusions. 
But  this  cannot  be. 

"  Liberty,  light,  love,  —  this  is  my  motto.     With 


94  CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL    VIEWS. 

regard  to  liberty,  all  men  are  free  to  act,  so  far  as 
they  do  not  interrupt  the  lawful  action  of  others ; 
and  the  lawful  action  of  all  men  is  that  which  pro 
duces  universal  happiness.  Men  may  think  within 
the  bounds  of  truth.  Universal  truth  and  universal 
human  happiness  perfectly  agree.  In  determining 
the  question,  What  is  truth  ?  this  may  be  the  test,  its 
adaptation  to  promote  happiness.  That  is  not  truth 
which  impairs  the  glory  of  God,  and  takes  from 
human  happiness. 

"With  regard  to  light,  all  knowledge  is  useful. 
The  objects  of  knowledge  are  the  things  which  God 
has  made.  All  philosophy,  all  science,  all  learning, 
are  to  be  prized  as  we  would  prize  the  things  of  God. 
All  knowledge  is  the  handmaid  of  religion,  and  it  is 
religion  that  gives  knowledge  its  chief  value.  All 
truth  harmonizes. 

"  Reason  is  the  great  instrument  of  knowledge, 
the  great  instrument  of  truth.  Reason  is  sacred. 
It  may  no  more  be  trifled  with  or  abused,  its  dictates 
may  no  more  be  slighted  or  contemned,  than  truth 
itself,  or  God  himself.  Reason  is  the  arbiter  of  the 
soul.  It  judges  upon  what  is  presented  in  nature 
and  in  the  Bible,  and  declares  to  us  the  .truth.  Rea 
son  guides  us  to  the  throne  of  God.  There  the 
heart  holds  sweet  intercourse ;  there  the  will  sub 
mits  in  lowliness ;  there  the  intellect  receives  new 
treasures  of  knowledge.  God  has  made  nature,  he 
has  made  the  Bible.  Truth  is  immutable.  It  is  the 
same  in  nature  and  in  revelation.  Who  will,  then, 
impiously  dissever  the  Bible  from  nature,  —  revealed 
religion  from  natural  religion?  God  speaks,  and 


CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS.  95 

reason  is  the  echoing  of  his  voice.  He  creates,  and 
reason  is  the  mirror  of  his  omnipotence.  He  is  the 
author  of  truth,  and  reason  is  its  revelation.  Who 
will  be  indifferent  to  reason?  Who  will-  slight  his 
God  ?  Who  will  trample  down  reason  ?  Who  will 
prescribe  his  God  ? 

"  I  would  yield  my  heart  cheerfully  to  the  dictates 
of  reason.  I  cannot,  I  dare  not  demur.  I  reject 
Calvinism  because  it  opposes  my  consciousness,  my 
reason,  nature,  and  the  Bible.  In  following  an  un 
biassed  reason,  I  feel  that  I  please  my  God.  My  soul 
bursts  from  its  prison-house  ;  it  walks  forth,  buoyant 
with  freedom ;  it  treads  upward  towards  its  God. 

"Love,  'love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law.'  'God 
is  love.'  t  He  that  loveth  is  born  of  God.'  To  love 
is  godlike.  To  love  is  to  be  happy.  We  should 
love  all  men,  because  there  is  something  lovely  in 
man.  We  should  love  God  supremely,  because  he 
is  infinitely  lovely.  I  should  love  all  men,  and  all 
men  should  love  me.  This  would  make  a  heaven  of 
earth,  as  it  is  the  heaven  of  heaven.  If  I  have  not 
loved  others,  it  is  because  I  have  not  known  them. 
If  they  have  not  loved  me,  I  would  fain  hope  it 
is  because  they  have  not  known  me.  Love  is  the 
cincture  of  heaven,  and  the  golden  chain  that  may 
raise  earth  to  the  skies. 

"  To  love  is  the  prerogative  of  the  soul ;  'tis  its 
commanding  excellence.  It  is  its  free,  native,  bliss 
ful  exercise.  But,  according  to  Calvinism,  the  soul 
naturally  hates.  It  cannot  love  its  God.  It  cannot 
love  the  human  race.  O  creed,  full  of  all  abomina 
tions  ! 


96  CHANGE   IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS. 

"  Unitarianism,  —  I  am  too  well  aware  of  the  odor 
in  which  this  name  is  held.  But  I  have  learned  not 
to  fear  names.  A  hard  lesson  has  this  been  to  me. 
There  is  only  one  name  which  I  almost  reverence, 
and  towards  which  I  am  perhaps  too  strongly  pre 
possessed.  That  is  Truth.  "Whatever  bears  this 
name  has  a  passport  to  my  heart. 

"  But  what  does  the  name  Unitarianism  wear  upon 
its  face  so  revolting  ?  It  relates  primarily  and  solely 
to  the  Unity  of  God.  In  this  sense,  with  the  Jews 
of  old,  we  are  all  Unitarians.  But  you  are  some 
thing  more.  You  are  both  Unitarians  and  Trinita 
rians.  It  is  possible  to  believe  too  much  as  well  as 
too  little.  Men  constantly  vibrate  between  credulity 
and  scepticism.  You  believe  that  God  is  one,  and 
that  he  is  three.  But  you  will  say,  that  you  do  not 
mean  that  he  is  in  the  same  sense  one  that  he  is 
three,  or  three  that  he  is  one.  You  believe  in  a 
Trinity.  I  should  go  farther,  and  aver  that  we  have 
good  evidence  of  a  quaternity  and  a  quinquenity  in 
the  Godhead.  If  you  will  read  carefully  the  account 
of  angels  in  the  Pentateuch,  and  of  wisdom  in  the 
Proverbs,  you  will  find  all  the  attributes  of  the 
Almighty  ascribed  to  them. 

"With  regard  to  the  Holy  Spirit,  he  is  either 
the  one  Great  God  of  the  universe,  or  he  is  a  being 
distinct  from  him.  If  you  think  he  is  one  and 
the  same,  so  far  you  are  Unitarians.  If  he  is  dis 
tinct,  it  must  be  in  one  of  three  ways :  he  is  either 
greater,  equal  to,  or  less  than  God.  If  greater,  then 
God  has  a  superior,  which  cannot  be ;  if  equal,  then 


CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS.  97 

there  are  two  Gods,  which  cannot  be ;  if  less,  we 
have  an  inferior  Divinity,  which  cannot  be. 

"Christ  also  is  the  one  great  God  of  the  uni 
verse,  or  a  being  distinct  from  him.  If  you  think 
him  one  and  the  same,  then  you  are  Unitarians. 
But  the  Trinitarians  say  that  he  is  in  some  respects 
distinct  from  God,  yet  that  he  is  truly  God.  Now, 
in  whatever  respects,  properties,  attributes,  qualities, 
or  any  thing  you  choose,  he  is  distinct,  he  must 
differ  in  one  of  three  ways.  He  is  either  greater, 
equal  to,  or  less  than  God.  But  either  of  these  can 
not  be.  Therefore,  in  whatever  sense  he  is  in  the 
least  degree  distinct  from  God,  he  is  not  God.  But 
the  New  Testament  everywhere  speaks  of  him  as  a 
distinct  being,  —  as  a  person  by  himself ;  and  so 
I  believe  he  truly  is :  but  I  cannot  believe  he  is 
the  one  great  God  of  the  universe,  indivisible,  in 
communicable.  Whatever  and  whoever  differs  from 
God  differs,  in  a  strict,  metaphysical  sense,  infinitely. 
You  say  we  do  not  understand  the  -  connection  be 
tween  our  mind  and  body.  True ;  but  we  do  fully 
understand  this,  that  our  mind  is  not  our  body,  nor 
our  body  our  mind.  The  very  idea  of  connection 
implies  a  difference  in  the  things  connected. 

"  Let  me  appeal  to  your  own  experience.  When 
you  direct  your  petitions  to  God  and  to  Christ  in 
the  same  prayer,  do  they  seem  to  you  as  one  and  the 
same  ?  Do  you  regard  them  both  as  the  one  Infinite 
Jehovah  ?  When  you  pray  to  Christ  alone,  or  when 
you  think  of  him  by  himself,  do  you  think  of  him 
as  the  Infinite  God  ?  Do  you  worship  Christ,  having 
the  clear  idea  of  him  as  God  ?  If  you  do  not,  and 

9 


98  CHANGE   IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS. 

he  be  really  the  great  God  of  the  universe,  you  are 
guilty  of  the  habitual  sin  of  degrading  God,  and  you 
degrade  him  infinitely ;  for,  as  we  have  before  seen, 
whatever  differs  from  God  differs  infinitely.  You 
say  an  infinite  being  must  die  to  make  an  atonement 
for  sin  ?  I  will  only  ask,  could  God  suffer  ?  could 
God  die  ? 

"Yet  Christ  is  a  great,  a  glorious  being.  There 
is  no  other  like  him.  He  is  *  the  brightness  of  God's 
glory,  the  express  image  of  his  person.'  He  is 
truly,  I  do  not  say  in  a  literal  sense,  'God  with 
us.'  He  is  '  God  manifest  in  the  flesh.'  He  is  our 
Redeemer  from  sin.  He  is  the  (  Captain  of  our  sal 
vation.'  He  is  '  the  High  Priest  of  the  new  cove 
nant.'  We  may  love  him,  because  in  him  dwells 
the  perfection  of  excellence.  We  may  imitate  him, 
because  he  is  like  God.  I  wish  only  to  preach 
Christ.  For  me  to  live  is  Christ.  In  the  days  of 
my  doubt,  I  had  almost  given  up  Christ.  My  soul 
wandered  over-the  tumultuous  waters  of  scepticism, 
and  could  find  no  rest  for  the  sole  of  its  foot.  It 
has  now  returned  to  the  ark  of  its  everlasting  rest. 

"If  the  rejection  of  the  obnoxious  and  essential 
points  of  Calvinism  necessarily  involves  Unitarian- 
ism,  you  cannot  imagine  that  I  should  hesitate  which 
of  the  two  to  choose.  If  to  desire  the  greatest  hap 
piness  of  the  universe,  and  the  highest  glory  of 
God ;  if  to  see  the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  God  dis 
played  in  all  his  works ;  if  to  take  elevated  views  of 
his  noblest  work,  man ;  if  to  believe  and  love  the 
revelation  which  God  has  made  of  himself  to  man  ;  if 
to  unite  the  philosopher  and  the  Christian,  and  make 


CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS.  99 

them  harmoniously  subserve  the  same  chief  end ;  if 
to  desire  to  see  the  image  of  God,  wherever  prostrate, 
raised,  —  wherever  hright,  made  still  more  radiant ; 
if,  in  a  word,  to  desire  to  see  man  illuminated  in  his 
darkness,  purified  from  his  sins,  delivered  from  the 
dominion  of  his  Adversary,  elevated  from  his  degra 
dation,  and  to  see  him  loving  and  being  loved, 
ascending  towards  his  God,  unfolding  his  large 
capacities  for  the  bliss  and  holiness  of  the  skies  ; 
rising,  in  the  full  vigor  of  his  strength,  in  the  in 
tensity  of  his  longings,  upward  and  upward,  till 
earth  and  heaven  shall  meet  in  rapturous  unison ; 
and  the  souls  of  men  and  angels,  and  the  Spirit  of 
the  living  God,  shall  flow  together  in  one  infinite, 
changeless  heart  of  love  ;  —  I  say,  if  this  is  to  be  a 
Unitarian,  then  I  am  one.  And  I  rejoice  in  the 
ineffable  glory  which  God,  by  such  a  character,  is 
pleased  to  confer  upon  us,  unworthy  worms  of  the 
dust. 

"  If  Unitarianism  looks  coldly  upon  man,  and  with 
indifference  upon  its  God ;  if  it  locks  itself  up  in  the 
shadowy  recesses  of  selfishness  ;  if  it  indulges  no 
lofty  aspirings,  no  holy  desires ;  if  it  has  no  sympa 
thies,  no  heart,  no  head ;  if  it  be  a  negative  insensi 
bility  in  respect  to  the  great,  the  godlike,  and  the 
good,  though  it  may  abjure  Calvinism,  I  am  not  a 
Unitarian.  v 

"  Death  I  do  not  fear.  The  thought  has  some 
times  been  oppressive ;  but  now  the  shadows  have 
all  melted  away  in  the  clear  light  of  faith  and  hope. 
I  have  some  dread  of  the  physicalities  of  dying,  — 
nothing  more.  I  have  had  a  desire  to  die,  that  I 


100  CHANGE   IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS. 

might  escape  the  miseries  of  existence.  In  the  lap 
of  the  grave  I  would  gladly  have  pillowed  my  aching 
head,  my  burdened  heart.  Thoughtworn,  careworn, 
I  would  gladly  have  relieved  my  crazed  brain  any 
where.  I  used  to  sing,  or  rather  groan  out,  you 
know,  '  There  shall  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling, 
there  shall  the  weary  be  at  rest.'  I  felt  it  all  to  my 
inmost  soul.  I  have  few  such  feelings  now.  I  look 
forward  to  death  with  calmness,  yet  with  some  exhila 
ration.  Death  is  only  the  vestibule  of  heaven.  Its 
threshold  may  be  easily  crossed.  Our  bodies  are 
the  furnace  of  the  soul,  from  which  it  will  issue  at 
death,  defecated  and  polished,  to  mingle  in  com 
munion  with  the  Holy  and  the  Infinite.  Where  the 
disengaged  spirit  goes  to,  we  cannot  tell.  'Tis 
enough  to  know  it  goes  to  its  God ;  that  it  lives  in 
his  life,  is  beatified  in  his  bliss,  is  glorious  in  his 
glory.  Why  should  we,  then,  fear  to  die  ?  Jesus 
Christ  has  dissipated  the  gloom  of  the  grave.  There 
is  no  terror  there.  I  would  reverberate  that  out 
breaking  of  ecstasy  and  triumph,  '  O  death !  where  is 
thy  sting  ?  O  grave  !  where  is  thy  victory  ? '  I  thank 
my  God,  who  giveth  me  the  victory  through  my  Lord 
Jesus  Christ. 

"  What  is  hell  ?  To  be  without  God  is  hell.  To 
have  any  other  society  than  that  of  the  holy  is  hell. 
To  have  your  natures  undeveloped  to  the  spiritual  is 
hell.  To  be  assimulated  to  the  earth,  till  the  soul 
becomes  materialized  by  the  gross  contact,  is  hell. 
Any  thing  that  is  not  heaven,  holiness,  God,  to  beings 
born  with  such  natures  and  such  susceptibilities  as 
we  have,  is  hell;  'tis  the  'gnawing  worm,'  the 


CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL    VIEWS.  101 

'  quenchless  fire.'  There  may  be  direct  inflictions  of 
punishment ;  but  this  is  not  necessary  to  make  a  hell 
for  us.  God,  in  this  world,  generally  punishes  men 
by  leaving  them  to  the  fruit  of  their  own  doings. 
In  the  next  world,  it  will  be  hell  enough  to  be  un- 
spiritualized,  unholy,  unglorified. 

"  I  am  happy  in  my  religious  views ;  but  there 
are  thoughts  associated  with  them  which  make  me 
very  wretched.  My  heart  is  like  the  landscape  over 
which  the  shadows  pass,  blend,  break  away,  and 
mingle  again.  My  indiscretions  are  a  permanent 
source  of  unhappiness.  My  irritability  makes  others 
unhappy,  and,  of  course,  reacts  upon  myself.  The 
anxieties  of  my  friends  awaken  concern  in  my  own 
heart. 

"  I  have  told  you  something  of  my  wanderings. 
1  have  unfolded  to  you  something  of  my  heart.  This 
is  my  Cardiagraphy.  I  have  not  told  you  every 
thing.  I  could  not.  You  would  not  wish  to  know. 
There  are  chambers  which  may  never  be  opened.  I 
shall  throw  the  keys  away.  I  say  I  rejoice  in  my 
religious  thoughts.  Joy,  of  course,  with  me,  must 
be  a  qualified  term.  I  rejoice  with  trembling.  I  am 
at  a  period  in  life  when  young  men  are  apt  to  look 
with  a  cloudy  eye.  The  shadows  of  my  dark  night 
are  not  yet  all  dispersed.  I  feel  sometimes  as  if  I 
had  reached  but  the  twilight  of  a  brighter  day. 
When  moral  diseases  have  once  settled  upon  the 
mind,  it  is  with  difficulty  they  can  be  cured.  To 
doubt  was  my  disease.  Its  effects,  as  I  have  said 
before,  are  still  experienced.  Yet  I  will  not  despond. 
I  must  be  nerved  for  every  conflict.  My  eyes,  I  am 

9* 


CHANGE   IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS. 


sure,  have  seen  the  salvation  of  the  Lord,  and  I  will 
try  to  go  on  my  way  in  peace.  I  reflect  with  the 
deepest  interest  on  many  events  of  my  life;  nor 
can  I  ever  forget  them.  You  may  be  disappointed 
in  me  ;  may  even  regret  that  the  expense  and  pains 
of  a  college-education  have  been  bestowed.  But  I 
beg  of  you  to  forbear  such  thoughts.  I  would  hope 
that  I  am  a  wiser  and  a  better  man.  I  would  hope 
that  I  am  fitted  for  more  usefulness  in  the  world. 
I  love  my  friends,  and  always  shall.  If,  as  again  a 
wanderer,  I  am  compelled  to  leave  the  communion 
of  their  hearts,  my  heart  will  return  perhaps  more 
fully  to  the  bosom  of  its  God,  where  I  know  your 
hearts  are,  and  where  our  hearts  shall  meet  to  be  for 
ever  blessed  together. 

"  I  have  been  looking  over  what  I  have  penned. 
I  am  afraid  you  will  think  I  have  expressed  myself 
too  strongly;  but  I  feel  deeply.  I  have  written 
hastily,  because  feelings  never  sit  for  their  portraits. 
You  have  sometimes  chided  me  because  I  have  kept 
myself  concealed.  You  will  not  blame  me,  then, 
for  turning  aside  the  veil,  even  though  you  witness 
what  you  might  wish  had  no  existence.  As  a  mem 
ber  of  the  family,  I  wish  to  be  not  coldly  but  warmly 
known.  Yet  transparency  we  may  rather  deprecate, 
except  when  'tis  permeated  by  truth  and  beauty. 

"  I  feel  that  I  am  an  infant  in  knowledge,  a  novice 
in  attainment.  But  I  am  determined,  'forgetting 
the  things  that  are  behind,  to  press  on  towards  the 
mark  '  of  truth,  holiness,  spirituality,  perfection  in 
God.  No,  I  cannot  rest.  I  feel  a  Spirit  stirring  me 
up  to  holy  purposes,  to  high  accomplishments.  The 


CHANGE    IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS.  108 

courses  of  religious  action,  as  before  alluded  to,  are 
various.  You  will  not  care  what  name  I  bear,  pro 
vided  I  am  only  engaged  in  removing  the  sin  and 
earthliness  of  man,  that  he  may  reflect,  in  unobscured 
lustre,  the  full-orbed  glory  of  his  God." 

The  above  extracts,  with  their  intensity  of  feeling, 
and  somewhat  incoherency  of  expression,  form  a 
good  portrait  of  the  mind  of  Mr.  Judd  at  this  time. 
About  the  same  date  he  writes  — 

To  A.  H. 

"  I  am  at  home,  doing  nothing.  I  have  no  dis 
position  to  write  anybody,  or  say  any  thing.  There 
is  no  topic  on  which  I  can  speak  freely.  The  pre 
sent  is  perplexing  and  disagreeable ;  the  future  is 
shrouded  in  uncertainty  and  gloom.  My  mental  and 
moral  powers  are  under  a  perfect  paralysis.  Take, 
if  you  please,  this  scrawl,  not  of  my  thoughts,  for  I 
have  none ;  not  of  my  feelings,  for  the  *  mire  and 
dirt '  of  those  troubled  waters  I  would  not  put  upon 
paper.  I  would  ask  to  be  remembered  to  my  friends, 
if  I  were  what  I  might  be ;  but  such  a  thing  as  I 
am,  how  can  I  care  to  be  held  in  remembrance  ? " 

Here  he  was  now  a  young  man,  just  entering  upon 
his  twenty-fifth  year.  He  had  received  those  advan 
tages  of  a  public  education  which  had  been  the  hope 
of  his  early  years,  —  the  ardent  wish  of  his  more 
mature  youth.  With  all  the  enthusiasm  of  his  na 
ture,  he  had  entered  upon  them  as  preparatory  to 
the  profession  of  a  Calvinistic  minister.  With  him 


104  CHANGE   IN    THEOLOGICAL    VIEWS. 

went  the  expectations  of  family  and  friends,  and  of 
the  church  with  which  he  was  connected,  that  he 
would  become  a  zealous  and  distinguished  clergy 
man  of  the  Calvinistic  faith.  But,  compelled  in 
conscience  to  sever  himself  from  the  religious  de 
nomination  of  his  fathers,  he  now  found  himself,  so 
far  as  the  associations  and  many  of  the  affections  of 
his  former  life  were  concerned,  stranded  upon  an 
unknown  shore,  half 'crazed  by  the  tumultuous  buffet- 
ings  from  which  he  had  just  escaped,  and  fainting 
with  weakness  from  the  conflict  he  had  endured. 

Not  possessing  a  very  firm  physical  organization, 
but  with  affections  deep  and  strong,  and  keenly  alive 
to  blame  or  reproach,  it  was  hard  for  him  to  with 
draw  the  veil,  and  abide  the  shock  of  a  disclosure, 
with  all  its  attendant  consequences.  His  whole  be 
ing,  physical  and  mental,  reeled  under  it.  This 
change  in  theological  views,  involving  the  costliest 
sacrifices  of  the  heart,  put  him  to  the  strongest  test 
that  a  man  can  be  called  upon  to  endure,  that  duty, 
principle,  truth,  were  with  him  paramount  to  every 
thing  else. 

His  father  was  a  man  of  much  liberality  of  feeling. 
He  had  always  encouraged  freedom  of  opinion,  and 
had  therefore  not  much  to  say  condemnatory  of  the 
position  in  which  his  son  now  found  himself  by  the 
honest  exercise  of  this  freedom.  But  it  is  true,  that 
to  many  of  his  family  friends,  this  was  a  sore  trial. 
He  had,  as  they  thought,  embraced  error  which 
might  be  fatal  to  his  own  soul ;  and  he  was  to  become 
a  teacher  of  this  error  to  others. 

On  perusing  this  "  Cardiagraphy,"  however,  this 


CHANGE   IN    THEOLOGICAL   VIEWS.  105 

baring  of  his  conscientious,  loving  spirit  to  their 
view,  they  were  completely  disarmed.  They  could 
utter  no  word  of  opposition  to  the  stand  he  took, 
when  they  beheld  the  fearful  but  honest  strife  that 
had  so  long  been  warring  within  him.  They  even 
stood  back  in  reverence  before  the  integrity  of  feel 
ing  evinced,  the  costly  sacrifices  he  was  ready  to 
make  to  his  sense  of  truth,  and  the  general  purity  of 
soul  revealed.  And  from  those  nearest  him,  he  from 
this  time  experienced  no  interruption  in  the  current 
of  kindly  sympathy  and  love. 

Taken  all  together,  this  summer  of  1837  was  to 
Mr.  Judd  a  period  of  such  almost  annihilating  suf 
fering,  that  his  friends  sometimes  feared  as  to  the 
final  result.  Its  scathing  influence  he  very  sensibly 
felt  for  several  succeeding  years,  and  from  its  para 
lyzing  effects  upon  his  nervous  system  he  indeed 
never  recovered. 


106 


CHAPTER   V. 


LIFE  AT  THE  DIVINITY  SCHOOL. 


FIRST    YEAR    AT    HARVARD. 

ON  entering  upon  his  theological  studies,  Mr.  Judd 
•was  embarrassed  by  the  same  pecuniary  difficul 
ties  with  which  he  had  all  along  been  forced  to  con 
tend.  There  was  indeed  the  additional  perplexity 
arising  from  being  severed,  denominationally,  from 
all  his  old  Christian  friends,  from  whom  otherwise 
he  might  have  hoped  to  obtain  easy  loans  until  he 
should  be  able  to  refund  the  sums  furnished.  But 
now  he  certainly  could  not  expect  from  them  any 
facilities  in  aiding  him  to  become  what  they  consi 
dered  a  preacher  of  error.  His  father  had  already 
furnished  him  all  the  means  in  his  power.  To  the 
Unitarian  body,  with  which  he  now  found  himself 
most  closely  allied  in  views  and  feelings,  he  was  an 
entire  stranger.  But,  as  knowledge  of  his  change  of 
opinions  spread  abroad,  he  did  not  have  to  wait  long 
for  the  kindest  attentions  from  those  of  that  commu 
nion  with  whom  he  came  in  contact.  He  naturally 
wished  to  make  Harvard  the  alma  mater  of  his  theo 
logical  course.  Here  he  availed  himself  partly  of  a 
fund  for  the  benefit  of  divinity  students,  and  partly  of 
the  liberality  of  Mr.  Edmund  Dwight,  of  Boston,  a 


LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  107 

gentleman  who  was  in  the  habit  of  loaning  money  to 
students  there,  without  interest,  to  be  returned  or 
not,  according  to  convenience.  So,  with  the  most 
strict  economical  arrangements,  he  entered  the  Di 
vinity  School  of  Harvard  University,  at  the  com 
mencement  of  the  academic  year  in  1837. 

Here  now  he  found  himself  a  member  of  venera 
ble  old  Harvard,  the  reputed  hot-bed  of  what  he 
himself  had  once  regarded  as  heretical  opinions  ;  in 
the  midst  of  strangers  to  his  former  faith ;  an  alien 
from  the  household  of  Calvinism ;  in  the  exercise  of 
new  habits  of  thought,  and  in  all  respects  surrounded 
by  new  scenes  and  associations.  Boston,  the  seat  of 
refinement  and  literature,  was  of  easy  access  ;  Bunker 
Hill  and  Dorchester  Heights,  the  thrilling  scenes  of 
whose  history  had  traced  their  imagery  on  his  boy 
hood's  imagination,  were  not  far  off ;  Mount  Auburn, 
the  '  city  of  the  silent,'  was  near  at  hand ;  and  nature, 
in  her  highest  forms  of  beauty  and  cultivation,  was 
all  around.  He  was  settled  in  a  religious  faith, 
which,  to  him,  was  the  truth  of  God.  All  his  doubts 
and  scepticism  were  dispersed,  the  struggles  with 
his  early  creed  over,  the  dreaded  ordeal  of  develop 
ment  past,  and  his  stand  taken  in  a  new  course. 
With  his  escape  from  those  tormenting  disquietudes, 
and  with  the  free  and  full  unbosoming  to  his  friends 
of  what  had  so  long  been  shut  up  in  his  own.  soul, 
forming  a  sort  of  cold  barrier  between  him  and  those 
closest  to  his  heart,  returned  the  gentle  tenderness 
of  his  childhood-days,  and  an  openness  of  commu 
nication  quite  in  opposition  to  his  natural  reserve. 
He  felt  his  spirit  in  harmony  with  itself,  with  heaven 


108  LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

and  with  earth.     Love,  in  its  highest  sense,  was  the 
element  in  which  he  floated. 

But  was  he  now  completely  happy  ?  No.  The 
health  of  his  physical  nature  being  impaired,  his 
nervous  system,  like  the  strings  of  a  wind-harp,  was 
tremblingly  alive  to  every  gentle  breeze  or  rude 
blast  that  might  sweep  over  it.  Next  to  the  pre 
sence  of  God  in  his  soul,  the  greatest  want  of  his 
nature  was  human  sympathy.  Partly  in  consequence 
of  his  own  idiosyncracies  of  character,  and  in  part 
from  the  religious  struggle  which  was  going  on  in 
his  mind,  he  went  through  college  without  any  bosom 
friend  among  his  fellow-students.  On  going  to  Cam 
bridge,  he  felt  that  — 

"  His  soul  had  been 
Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea ; 
So  lonely  'twas,  that  God  himself 
Scarce  seemed  there  to  be." 

His  spirit  yearned  for  sympathy,  for  companion 
ship  in  all  its  recesses,  in  all  its  weaknesses.  He 
felt  how  poor  a  thing  was  human  weakness  to  con 
tend  with  strength.  His  experiences  had  been  varied, 
intricate,  entangled.  He  himself  found  it  difficult 
to  trace  the  clew  of  light  through  the  labyrinth  of 
darkness  in  which  he  had  wandered ;  much  more  so, 
in  his  enervated  condition,  to  give  an  intelligible, 
consistent  trace  of  it  to  any  one  else.  He  was  too 
vulnerable  on  all  points  of  greatest  interest  to  him, 
to  bear  the  shock  of  a  misunderstanding,  or  a  short 
coming  to  his  needs.  Yet  he  was  not  sufficient  to 
himself.  He  needed  the  tender  support  of  a  strong 
mind  that  had  itself  suffered  as  he  had,  that  had  gone 


LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  109 

down  to  the  silent  abyss  of  unutterable  sorrow,  that 
knew  all  its  devious  ramifications,  and  that  under 
stood  how  to  remove  the  garment  of  sadness  so 
gently,  that  the  change  would  be  known  only  by  the 
refreshment  which  succeeded.  With  him  were  long 
ings  for  the  infinite,  the  unattained.  These  Ke  found 
satisfied  in  a  good  degree  in  his  God  and  his  religion ; 
but  as  to  human  participators,  where  should  he  find 
them  ?  He  descended  into  the  depths  of  the  loneli 
ness  of  his  own  spirit ;  he  sounded  its  profoundest 
recesses,  and  drew  up  thence  fountains  of  knowledge 
which  enabled  him  ever  after  to  discover  the  stand 
point  of  suffering  souls,  and  to  get  into  a  real 
sympathy  with  their  griefs. 

Yet  the  sunlight  of  joy  gilded  the  tops  of  rocks 
that  rose  above  these  troubled  waters.  Some  parts 
of  his  many-sided  nature  were  more  than  satisfied. 
He  found  delight  in  mental  investigations.  He  did 
find  much  sympathy  and  congeniality.  And  on  he 
went,  manfully  yet  sorrowfully,  with  a  brave,  though 
sinking  heart. 

The  Unitarians  he  thought  had  too  little  fervor  in 
their  religion.  He  was  instrumental  in  establishing 
private  meetings  for  prayer  among  his  fellow-students, 
and  was  distinguished  among  them  for  readiness  to 
bear  his  part,  and  for  the  nearness  with  which  he 
seemed  to  approach  their  common  Lord,  and  pour 
forth  his  supplications.  In  his  Journal,  Feb.  23, 
1838,  he  writes  of  them,  "  These  are  delightful  sea 
sons.  We  seem  to  get  each  night  a  little  nearer  to 
heaven." 

In  his  second  year,  under  the  title  of   "  Familiar 
10 


110  LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

Sketches,"  he  communicated  to  the  "  Christian  Re 
gister  "  a  series  of  letters  addressed  to  his  friend 

W n,   upon  the  change  in  his  religious  views, 

which  were  soon,  at  the  request  of  the  American 
Unitarian  Association,  under  the  title  of  "  A  Young 
Man's  Account  of  his  Conversion  from  Calvinism," 
published  by  that  body  as  Tract  No.  128.  He  com 
mences  thus :  — 

"Dear  W n, —  You  desire  of  me  some  ac 
count  of  myself,  —  of  what  I  am,  what  I  think,  what 
I  feel ', "  and  then  goes  on  to  state,  in  the  main,  what 
has  already  been  given  in  the  preceding  chapter  on 
his  change  of  theological  views.  He  speaks  more 
at  large  of  what  he  considers  the  difficulties  of  the 
system  of  Calvinism,  its  practical  effects,  its  opposi 
tion  to  the  Bible  and  to  the  analogy  of  nature,  the 
fear  of  Unitarianism,  the  objections  raised  against  it, 
and  the  arguments  for  the  creed  of  the  Genevan. 
"  The  doctrine  of  the  Trinity,"  he  says,  "  which  is 
regarded  as  the  great  point  of  division  between  the 
Calvinists  and  Unitarians,  was  secondary  in  the  order 
and  the  interest  of  my  inquiries." 

In  the  third  letter,  he  writes  :  "  I  have  given  you 
a  summary  account  of  some  of  the  results  of  my 
inquiries.  These  may  appear,  at  first  glance,  to  be 
simple,  natural,  and  easily  reached.  The  process, 
however,  is  not  instantaneous,  or  unattended  with 
difficulties.  Our  religious  investigations  have  this 
peculiarity,  that  at  every  step  they  are  thronged  with 
considerations  of  momentous  and  changeless  conse 
quences.  In  philosophy  we  may  digress  in  our  in- 


LIFE   AT   THE   DIVINITY   SCHOOL.  Ill 

quiries,  diversify  our  experiments,  revolutionize  our 
theories,  without  the  apprehension  of  affecting  seri 
ously  the  welfare  of  society,  or  of  giving  a  new  deter 
mination  to  our  immortal  destiny.  In  religion  it  is 
not  so.  A  consistent  religious  course  is  of  supreme 
value  to  every  man  in  this  life.  But  in  the  next  — 
who  can  measure  the  tide  of  consequences  that  flows 
on  through  eternity  ?  "We  tremble  at  every  thought, 
decision,  act,  lest  we  impart  some  slight  bias  to  the 
nicely  adjusted  sequence  of  events,  by  which,  in 
the  progress  of  ages,  instead  of  being  elevated  to  the 
happiness  we  desire,  we  shall  become  involved  in 
inextricable  misery." 

Speaking  of  the  metaphysical  subtilties  in  which 
on  a  certain  occasion  he  found  himself  involved,  he 
says :  "  I  might  have  persisted  in  these  perplexing 
abstractions,  I  cannot  say  how  long,  when  my  thoughts 
were  diverted  by  the  entrance  of  a  little  girl,  who 
came  tripping  in  with  the  freedom  and  glee  of  youth. 
She  was  in  the  incipient  development  of  her  primi 
tive  being.  She  had  not  experienced,  so  far  as  I 
know,  a  change  from  what  was  her  original  nature. 
I  called  her  attention,  and  read  to  her  the  verse, 
'Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,'  and  so  forth,  and 
asked  her  if  she  thought  it  was  good  in  God  to  bless 
only  those  who  had  pure  hearts.  '  Oh ! '  said  she,  '  I 
wish  my  heart  to  be  always  pure.'  Then  she  added, 
with  a  look  between  a  smile  and  a  thought,  such  as 
you  sometimes  see  pass  over  the  face  of  a  child,  '  I 
should  not  be  happy  in  heaven  with  God,  if  I  had  a 
wicked  heart.'  All  the  world  may  not  perceive  the 
bearing  of  this  slight  occurrence.  You  will  under- 


LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 


stand  me  when  I  say  it  was  a  hint,  a  blessed  hint, 
to  better  things." 

Farther  on,  he  says  :  "  There  is  one  thing  which 
engages  my  attention  much  :  it  is  the  naturalness  of 
the  religion  of  Evangelical  Unitarians.  Religion 
with  them  does  not  appear,  as  we  sometimes  witness, 
an  exotic  transplanted  to  an  uncongenial  soil,  to  be 
cultivated  by  artificial  appliances  ;  but  as  something 
which  has  sprung  up  in  the  native  mould  of  the 
heart.  It  is  warm,  free,  constant.  It  is  not  active 
for  a  time,  and  then  chilled  by  the  intervention  of 
worldliness.  It  is  not  assumed  for  a  sabbath,  a  meet 
ing,  or  an  accidental  emergency  ;  but  interests  itself 
in  the  various  circumstances  of  life,  and  expresses 
itself  on  every  fitting  occasion.  It  mingles  with  the 
recollections  of  childhood,  and  with  the  scenes  of 
youth.  God  has  ever  been  to  it  a  Father,  the  Holy 
Spirit  a  Sanctifier,  and  Christ  a  Saviour. 

"  Evangelical  Unitarianism  does  justice  to  human 
nature.  This  is  its  peculiar  excellence.  Christ  did 
not  come  to  create  a  new  race  of  beings  on  the  earth, 
but  to  develop,  bring  out,  elevate,  and  re-establish 
the  existing  race  in  its  original  purity.  Unitarianism 
recognizes  in  all  men  the  priceless  (  pearl  '  of  the 
'  kingdom  ;  '  and  it  would  raise  them  up  into  the  full 
light  of  truth,  and  the  rich  joys  of  holiness.  It  is 
teaching  the  great  doctrines  of  humanity,  which  shall 
subvert  and  utterly  demolish,  throughout  the  world, 
every  system  of  oppression  and  degradation,  religious, 
moral,  and  political.  It  is  teaching  the  sublime  and 
godlike  lesson  of  the  worth  of  the  universal  human 
heart." 


LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  113 

The  reader  may  already  have  remarked  a  change 
in  Mr.  Judd's  general  style  of  writing,  from  the  time 
he  first  found  repose  in  his  new  views.  These  were 
attended  with  a  perfect  mellowness  of  feeling,  a  full 
and  easy  flow  of  thought,  an  elevation  and  richness 
of  expression :  they  seemed,  in  a  sense,  to  produce 
the  full  flowering  of  his  being.  As  a  whole,  his 
Cambridge  correspondence  is  in  quite  striking  con 
trast  with  that  of  New  Haven. 

Copious  extracts  from  letters  written  while  he 
was  in  the  Divinity  School  will  form  the  principal 
material  of  this  chapter.  A  greater  space  is  afforded 
to  his  miscellaneous  correspondence  of  this  period 
than  would  otherwise  be,  because  it  so  fully  unfolds 
the  general  elements  of  his  character. 

His  first  communication  home  is  addressed  — 

To  HIS  MOTHER. 

"  CAMBRIDGE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY,  Aug.  27,  1837. 

"My  dear  Mother,  —  You  see  I  am  on  the  here 
tic's  ground.  Strange  as  it  may  seem  to  myself, 
unanticipated  as  it  has  been  by  you,  it  is  neverthe 
less  true  that  I  am  here." 

"  Aug.  30,  Commencement-day.  —  A  great  assembly 
as  usual ;  a  multitude  of  venerable  men  and  learned 
men.  It  seemed  like  standing  in  the  shades  of  Old 
England's  aristocracy.  But,  alas !  I  lost  my  dinner. 
Contrary  to  the  custom  in  New  Haven  and  Amherst, 
those  who  are  only  A.  B.'s  are  not  invited  to  dine 
with  the  Faculty.  .  .  . 

"  I  shall  room  alone.  It  will  cost  more,  but  I  can 
study  more.  Every  thing,  you  know,  is  to  be  sacri- 

10* 


114  LIFE    AT    THE   DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

ficed  to  study.  Shall  have  no  one  to  irritate  me  by 
paltry  disturbances.  So  I  may  be  as  calm  as  the 
wood-sheltered  lake. 

"  I  feel  that,  in  coming  here,  I  have  bid  a  sort  of 
everlasting  farewell  to  most  of  my  old  Orthodox 
friends,  so  that  I  have  not  the  solace  of  communion 
with  the  absent.  Still,  I  do  not  love  them  the  less, 
but  truth  the  better." 

To  A.  H. 

"  CAMBRIDGE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY,  Sept.  7,  1837. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  prepared  for  every  thing  ;  and 
it  is  unnecessary  to  allude  to  my  own  feelings  on 
finding  myself  in  this  new,  this  strange,  this  forbid 
den  situation.  Yet  I  am  almost  surprised  to  realize 
that  I  am  here.  It  seems  sometimes  like  a  dream, 
from  which  I  shall  soon  awake.  And  the  past,  the 
past !  Where  is  it  ?  How  has  it  flown  ?  Either 
that  or  this  must  be  a  dream.  How  changed  are  all 
things  around  me,  and  before  me  in  the  future !  I 
seem  to  have  experienced  a  sort  of  metempsychosis. 
But  the  past  was  real.  It  lingers,  dilates,  kindles  in 
my  thoughts,  as  does  the  vision  of  his  home-valley 
to  the  distant  traveller. 

"I  shall  touch  briefly  upon  the  present.  The 
associations  of  this  whole  region  are  of  a  most  in 
teresting  character.  New  England  had  its  origin 
here.  This  is  the  land  of  our  ancestors. 

"  The  subject-matter  of  your  notes,  of  our  frequent 
conversations,  and  indeed  of  my  whole  life,  for  these 
many  months,  is  of  such  a  nature  that  I  rather  avoid 
entering  upon  it  fully.  It  borders,  some  would 


LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  115 

think,  too  much  on  the  sentimental.  It  certainly  is 
incorporated  with  those  deep  emotions  which  have 
no  language,  which  will  not  bear  a  calm  retrospec 
tion,  and  such  as  we  rather  tremble  to  feel,  than  are 
ready  to  communicate.  There  are  abysses  of  feeling 
which  we  know  nothing  about  till  we  are  plunged 
into  them.  I  shudder  as  I  look  back  upon  the  past. 
Man  knows  not  the  heart.  It  is  a  thing  of  mysteries. 
It  is  the  mystery  of  mysteries.  Its  full  capabilities 
it  will  take  an  eternity  to  reveal.  To  feel  is  my 
nature.  It  is  my  thought,  my  act.  I  have  always 
felt.  But  such  occasions  as  the  last  eight  months 
have  environed  me  with,  I  have  not  always  been 
subject  to.  Every  object  was  an  emotion,  and  every 
feeling  a  pang.  Man  frowned  me  from  his  presence. 
Nature,  my  mother  nature,  chided  my  sorrowing. 
Self  was  a  dashing  sea.  But  this  is  all  past,  for  ever 
past ;  I  mean  the  occasions,  not  exactly  the  feeling. 
This  throws  its  currents  over  me  when  I  would 
gladly  rest  in  solitude  and  distance. 

"  This  summer  has  been  most  eventful  to  me,  both 
in  feeling  and  act.  Old  relations  have  been  broken 
up,  and  new  ones  assumed.  I  cannot  forget  the 
past.  It  embraces  too  great  a  portion  of  myself.  I 
would  not.  The  very  anguish  of  my  feelings  begets 
a  sort  of  pleasing  delirium.  Besides,  at  present,  I 
have  nothing  to  feel  about ;  and,  were  it  not  for  the 
past,  I  know  not  but  that  my  heart  would  turn 
to  marble.  I  am  lonely  here.  I  am  not  much 
acquainted  even  with  the  students  yet.  I  have  not 
found  my  man.  Hope  a  good  Providence  will  send 
him  soon.  Where  is  she  1  Where  is  the  *  well  of 


116  LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

waters '  by  which  I  can  stand  ( at  the  time  of  even 
ing  when  the  daughters  of  men  come  out  to  draw 
water'?  This  perhaps  will  seem  to  you  idle  and 
unworthy  of  me.  I  dismiss  the  topic.  If  we  stand 
still,  I  have  heard  it  said,  the  world  will  come  round 
to  us. 

"  The  events  of  the  summer  seem  to  have  no 
regular  eclair cissement.  They  are  a  labyrinth  from 
which  I  escaped,  not  by  a  proper  egress,  but  by  a 
flight  out  at  the  top.  ...  I  must  commence  life  again. 
Religiously  I  have  ;  so  I  must  in  other  things.  But 
my  poor  nature  seems  almost  wrecked,  and  almost 
without  the  power  of  resuscitation.  I  feel  sometimes 
as  if  I  were  sinking  into  old  age.  Perhaps  this  is 
only  the  exhaustion  of  over-action.  My  life  in  its 
vigor  may  return." 

To  HIS  MOTHER. 

"CAMBRIDGE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY,  Sept.  7,  1837. 

"It  makes  a  stranger  feel  much  more  lonely 
to  be  with  a  multitude  who  all  know  each  other. 
This  is  the  loneliness  of  the  multitude,  which  is 
much  worse  than  the  loneliness  of  solitude.  In  the 
latter  case,  we  are  never  alone ;  for  we  can  commune 
with  ourselves  and  our  God.  And  we  can  hold  con 
verse  with  nature,  who  is  never  engaged,  but  always 
solicits  our  acquaintance  by  innumerable  attractions. 
We  need  never  fear  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
nature.  Man  sometimes  deceives  us  ;  nature,  never. 
Man  grows  tired  of  our  company:  nature  is  ever 
presenting  new  fascinations  in  order  that  we  may 
stay.  I  do  not  know  but  you  will  think  I  am  sick 


LIFE    AT    THE   DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  117 

of  men.  I  am  in  some  respects,  but  I  love  nature 
more.  She  is  my  companion,  my  study,  my  delight. 
She  reveals  a  God. 

"  Sept.  8.  —  I  was  interrupted  in  my  reverie  yes 
terday  by  the  bell.  Perhaps  it  is  well  for  me  that 
my  thoughts  are  brought  back,  I  was  going  to  say, 
to  real  life.  But  my  own  reveries  are  as  much  real 
life  to  me  as  any  thing  else ;  so  that,  whether  I  am 
in  the  world  or  out  of  the  world,  I  am  in  my  proper 
life.  As  I  hinted  in  my  last  letter,  our  seminary  is 
retired.  This  is  favorable  to  study,  and  especially 
to  theological  study ;  which  always  nourishes  better 
in  the  grove  than  in  the  city.  Indeed,  it  sometimes 
seems  to  me  almost  impossible  for  a  man  to  cultivate 
a  perfect  religious  character  in  the  city,  where  the 
earth  and  the  sky  are  paved  out  and  walled  out  from 
his  view. 

"  I  find  myself  in  the  midst  of  an  aristocracy  of  lit 
erature,  wealth,  and  family,  —  in  my  proper  element, 
I  suppose  father  will  say.  There  is  the  aristocracy 
of  the  lower  orders,  and  the  aristocracy  of  the  higher. 
Who  would  fillip  a  copper  for  the  difference  ?  Man 
is  aspiring.  That  is  his  glory.  If  he  were  not  so, 
he  would  be  of  the  brute.  The  world  would  stag 
nate.  Give  each  man  all  the  influence  he  can  get, 
and  we  shall  all  have  our  proper  influence.  The 
scholar  looks  down  upon  the  farmer,  the  farmer  upon 
the  shoemaker,  the  shoemaker  upon  the  chimney 
sweep.  All,  in  my  estimation,  are  good  enough. 
'Tis  folly  to  be  proud,  'tis  misery  to  envy.  Where 
shall  I  stand  ?  An  egotistical,  but  a  very  proper 
question,  —  where  I  can,  of  course.  I  have  none  to 


118  LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

raise  me ;  and,  I  am  sure,  I  wish,  for  none  to  pull  me 
down.  It  was  no  more  intended  that  there  should 
be  a  perfect  level  of  influence,  than  that  there  should 
be  a  dead  level  of  thought.  And  to  desire  influence 
for  the  good  of  men  and  the  glory  of  God,  is  a  most 
religious  motive. 

"  You  must  be  very  busy  in  fitting  C.  P.  off.  Let 
not  my  .affairs  hurry  you.  I  am  afraid,  I  know 
indeed,  you  exert  yourself  too  much  for  your  child 
ren.  If  they  all  prove  such  heretics  as  I  have,  I  do 
not  know  but  you  will  be  discouraged.  But  we 
shall  ever  be  grateful. 

"  Sept.  10.  —  We  had  a  most  excellent  sermon 
this  morning  from  Prof.  Ware.  It  was  Orthodox 
enough  for  any  one.  All  that  Unitarians  need  is  to 
adhere  to  their  principles,  and  acquire  some  of  the 
spirit  of  the  Orthodox." 

To  HIS  COUSIN  G.  L. 
"  CAMBRIDGE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY,  Sept.  9,  1837. 

"  Dear  Cousin,  —  I  wish,  in  the  outset  of  this  let 
ter,  to  allude  to  my  neglect  of  correspondence.  You 
may  have  thought  it  very  strange.  It  was  strange. 
My  apology  is  to  be  found  in  my  history.  You  have 
some  conception  of  what  that  has  been  for  the  last 
two  or  three  years.  Religious  considerations,  of  a 
new  and  peculiar  nature,  have  been  pressing  with 
such  weight  upon  my  mind,  that  I  could  not  write. 
I  have  often  wished  to  write  you.  I  have  more  than 
once  taken  up  my  pen,  but  have  thrown  it  down  in 
despair.  I  could  not  disclose  to  you  the  subject 
about  which  my  thoughts  were  most  anxiously  en- 


LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  119 

gaged.  I  was  entering  upon  an  untried  world. 
Objects  around  me  were  indistinct,  and  yet  of  over 
whelming  importance.  I  could  not  write  about 
them.  I  could  only  think  and  feel.  When  I  write 
to  a  confidential  friend,  I  wish  to,  I  must,  write  from 
the  heart.  But  where  our  thoughts  become  involved, 
forbidden,  strange,  we  must  not  pen  them. 

"  I  have  been  struggling  these  many  years  with 
the  difficulties  of  Orthodoxy.  'Tis  no  new  thing. 
Long  before  I  went  to  college,  I  was  often  in  doubt. 
You  can  guess  something  of  my  ups  and  downs. 
But  why  did  I  not  tell  you  something  of  the  matter  ? 
Alas  !  I  could  not.  I  said  nothing,  as  you  know,  to 
our  own  family.  It  was  the  secret,  the  corroding, 
burning  secret  of  my  own  heart.  Perhaps  my  re 
serve  was  not  quite  reasonable.  Yet  I  did  disclose 
myself  as  soon  as  I  could.  Perfect  conviction  and 
settled  determination  on  a  change  of  such  vast  mo 
ment  are  not  the  work  of  a  day.  My  last  act, 
previously  to  an  unreserved  declaration,  was  to  read 
my  Bible  from  Genesis  to  the  Apocalypse.  With 
the  whole  word  of  God,  as  I  thought,  on  my  side, 
I  felt  ready  to  meet  the  world. 

"  You  have  noticed  some  peculiarities  in  my  con 
duct.  But  you,  as  well  as  others,  mistook  their 
occasion.  It  was  religious  doubts  that  hung  about 
me  like  mill-stones,  and  haunted  me  like  spectres  of 
midnight.  To  free  myself  of  these,  I  sought  every 
kind  of  diversion.  I  was  willing  to  talk  about  the 
ladies,  to  laugh  with  my  fellows,  to  ramble  in  the 
fields,  or  any  thing  else. 

"  I  have  always  loved  religion,  and  I  think  I  do 


120  LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

not  love  it  the  less  now.  I  have  always  rejoiced  to 
see  it  promoted,  whether  by  revival,  preaching,  con 
versation,  or  any  way.  I  think  my  solicitude  on 
this  point  has  not  subsided.  It  is  the  doctrines  of 
your  faith  that  have  troubled  me.  It  is  on  the  theory 
of  religion  that  my  mind  has  gradually  been  under 
going  a  change,  till  it  has  finally  settled  on  its 
present  views.  During  my  last  year  in  college,  my 
mind  was  not  decided,  as  it  is  now;  still,  I  had 
light  enough,  if  you  will  excuse  the  language,  to 
make  ( darkness  visible '  around  me." 

Under  date  of  Cambridge  Theological  Seminary, 
Sept.  13,  1837,  after  describing  Bunker  Hill  Monu 
ment,  and  the  extensive,  varied,  and  beautiful  view 
from  its  top,  Mr.  Judd  thus  writes  — 

To  HIS  MOTHER. 

"  The  reflection  involuntarily  arises,  how  man  and 
nature  have  conspired  to  render  this  world  beautiful. 
Why  need  men  deem  the  world  cursed  ?  Why  need 
they  deem  themselves  cursed,  whom  God  has  made 
so  beautiful  ?  If  men  would  take  half  the  pains  to 
improve  their  own  natures  that  they  do  to  cultivate 
the  world  around  them,  then  indeed  would  the  '  wil 
derness  blossom  as  the  rose.'  But  man  seeks  the 
outer.  The  inner  is  suffered  to  go  to  waste. 

"  The  reflection  occurs,  too,  how  changed  since  the 
poor  Indian  paddled  his  canoe  in  these  waters,  and 
hunted  here  in  an  unbroken  forest !  Two  centuries 
have  witnessed  a  change  in  man's  external  condition, 
the  like  of  which  the  world  has  never  seen.  May 


LIFE    AT    THE   DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 


the  next  two  centuries  see  as  great  a  change  in  his 
moral  aspects!  But  the  poor  Indians,  where  are 
they  now  ? 

"  I  must  leave  the  scene,  and  descend  the  monu 
ment.  I  admire  the  monument,  I  love  the  patriotism 
that  designed  it.  But  there  is,  after  all,  something 
so  exclusive,  so  cruel  in  patriotism,  that  we  are  half 
disposed  to  condemn  the  whole  thing.  It  makes  us 
love  our  own  country  to  the  sacrifice  of  every  other. 
It  has  always  filled  the  world  with  blood.  Yet  I 
am  sure  you  will  not  wish  to  be  introduced  so  coldly 
to  the  sentiments  of  the  Revolution,  or  to  those  deep 
feelings  that  naturally  arise  as  you  stand  by  the 
graves  of  the  martyrs  of  Liberty. 

"Thoughts  of  blood,  agony,  and  death,  make  the 
heart  curdle.  There  is  a  sublimity  about  a  battle 
field,  beyond  any  thing  else  that  this  world  realizes 
as  sublime.  The  hosts  of  men,  the  gorgeous  trap 
pings,  the  mortal  conflict,  the  ending  of  time,  the 
beginning  of  eternity,  —  these  raise  the  feelings  to 
an  unsurpassed  elevation,  yet  one  that  I  would  like 
to  experience.  Yes,  much  as  I  hate  war,  if  a  fight 
must  occur,  I  would  like  to  witness  it.  But  may 
such  an  event  never  happen  !  War  is  a  most  unnatu 
ral,  inhuman  system.  I  am  a  peace-man,  ultra  as 
need  be.  I  am  withal  so  great  a  coward  that  the 
consistency  of  my  principles  will  probably  never  be 
hazarded. 

"  Sept.  14.  —  Last  evening,  I  and  two  of  my 
classmates  were  at  tea  at  Prof.  "Ware's,  jun.  We 
were  agreeably  entertained.  Mrs.  W.,  who  is  an 
English  lady,  is  a  charming  woman.  She  thinks 

11 


LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

that,  if  the  Orthodox  and  Unitarians  knew  each  other 
better,  there  would  be  much  more  charity  and  har 
mony  of  feeling  among  the  two  denominations.  They 
are  strangely  ignorant  of  each  other's  true  excellen 
cies.  But  I  sometimes  almost  despair  of  their  ever 
being  cordial  towards  each  other,  until  they  get  to 
heaven  together.  Perhaps  our  differences  here  are 
designed  to  fit  us  for  greater  unity  there.  Still,  the 
case  is  very  bad.  I  must  hope  and  labor  for  better 
things. 

"I  board  in  commons.  Have  good  bread  and 
good  butter,  which,  you  know,  are  the  essentials  of 
good  living.  I  shall  expect  a  parcel  of  letters  when 
the  bundle  comes.  May  I  not  have  one  from  my 
mother?  "Her  son,  affectionately." 

POSTSCRIPT  IN  THE  SAME. 

"Dear  Sis.  A.,  —  How  do  you  get  along  without 
some  one  to  plague  you  ?  Does  not  this  want  make 

life  seem  dull  ?    Does  C.  P.  fret  any  ?    Does  P n 

mind?  ....  Have  you  received  letters  from  B-., 
or  written  to  her  ?  What  do  you  fill  your  paper  with 
when  you  write  her  ?  Have  you  a  thousand  girlish 
indescribables  to  pour  out  into  her  bosom  ?  You  will 
probably  have  more  before  the  world  has  done  with 
you  ;  so  you  need  not  be  in  haste." 

To  HIS  MOTHER. 
'•  CAMBRIDGE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY,  Sept.  16,  1837. 

"  My  dear  Mother,  —  It  is  Saturday  night.  My 
thoughts  revert  from  present  scenes  to  those  I  have 
left  behind.  It  is  the  hour  of  rest  and  reflection 


LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

with,  you  at  home.  I  wish  I  could  be  there  to  par 
ticipate  in  your  sympathies  and  thoughts.  You  may 
fancy  this  language  sounds  strangely  from  me,  from 
one  who  never  seemed  ready  to  share  in  the  happi 
ness  of  others,  or  to  communicate  his  own.  Truly 
I  have  been  too  much  an  isolated  being  —  with  you, 
but  not  of  you.  This  is  partly  the  fault  of  my  na 
ture,  partly  the  fault  of  circumstances.  No  one  who 
has  not  been  through  the  untried  states  that  I  have 
for  the  last  three  years  can  realize  the  unavoidable 
necessity  there  is  imposed  for  being  alone,  thinking 
alone,  sympathizing  alone.  A  habit  of  seclusion  in 
this  way  is  contracted,  which  it  is  not  easy  to  aban 
don.  The  stars  and  the  twilight,  the  dim  moon  and 
the  lonely  walk,  that  were  the  solitary  man's  com 
panions,  he  comes  to  love,  and  he  continues  to  love, 
even  when  he  might  return  to  the  haunts  of  men. 
He  pours  out  his  heart  into  the  ear  of  nature,  and  he 
would  listen  to  her  responses.  She  becomes  at  once 
his  confidant  and  his  oracle.  Still,  men  should  not 
be  forgotten,  nor  could  I  be  indifferent  to  them. 

' e  Such  a  state  of  mind  is  the  occasion  of  irrita 
bility.  The  interruptions  from  those  immediately 
about  him,  which  a  man  feels  whose  thoughts  are 
away,  will  always  make  him  fretful.  This  dispo 
sition  is  not  excusable,  although  it  may  in  some 
respects  be  palliated.  .  .  . 

"  But  I  would  let  these  things  pass.  It  is  to  be 
hoped,  that  time,  regular  occupation,  the  society  of 
those  who  are  not  opposed  to  cherished  views  and 
kindred  influences,  will  assuage  the  waters  of  this 
troubled  sea. 


LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 


"  I  wish,  then,  that  I  could  be  at  home  to-night. 
I  am  tired  of  strange  faces.  In  walking  over  half 
Boston  the  other  day,  I  met  no  one  whom  I  had 
ever  seen  before.  I  anticipated  that  I  should  fall  in 
with  some  familiar  countenance  ;  but  not  one  passed 
me.  In  Cambridge,  to  be  sure,  I  am  becoming 
somewhat  acquainted  with  faces  ;  but  the  order,  in 
such  a  case,  is  from  the  face  to  the  heart,  and  it  takes 
some  time  to  understand  the  latter. 

"  Sept.  19.  —  I  wonder  that  I  do  not  receive  any 
letter  from  home.  It  is  now  three  weeks  since  I 
left  Northampton,  and  I  am  impatient  at  your 
silence.  I  go  to  the  post-office  three  and  four  times 
a  day,  but  no  letter  from  any  source.  This  silence 
of  my  friends,  added  to  the  natural  loneliness  of  my 
situation  here,  makes  me  feel  doubly  solitary.  No 
familiar  faces,  no  familiar  voices,  no  familiar  words. 
This,  you  may  imagine,  makes  me  strongly  anxious 
to  hear  from  you. 

"  Sept.  20.  —  Yesterday  I  was  informed  of  means 
by  which  my  expenses  here  will  be  principally  met. 
A  benevolent  gentleman  in  Boston  gave  one  of  the 
students,  who  has  this  year  left  the  seminary,  one 
hundred  dollars  a  year,  which  he  might  either  regard 
as  a  gratuity,  or  repay  whenever  he  preferred  to  do 
it.  He  is  now  settled,  and  is  going  to  reimburse 
the  one  hundred  a  year.  Prof.  Palfrey  says  that 
I  may  have  the  same,  in  the  same  way.  He  says 
the  donor  is  rich,  does  not  want  his  money,  only 
wishes  that  it  may  be  doing  some  good.  I  can 
receive  it  with  or  without  becoming  obligatory  for 
it.  I,  of  course,  shall  choose  to  repay  it  whenever  I 


LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  125 

can.  So  you  see  my  anxieties  are  nearly  at  an  end. 
This  sum,  in  addition  to  the  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  or  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  which  I  shall  receive 
from  the  funds  of  the  institution,  in  common  with 
all  the  members,  will  nearly  cover  all  my  expenses. 
"  So  I  may  go  on  my  way  as  blithe  as  a  bird. 
The  Unitarians,  it  is  said,  do  not  oblige  any  one  to 
preach  their  creed,  even  though  they  assist  him." 

To  HIS  FATHER. 
-    "THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY,  Sept.  22,  1837. 

"  With  regard  to  stories  about  your  withdrawing 
aid,  and  so  forth.  When  I  thought  of  going  to 
Cambridge,  I  was  obliged  to  look  about  for  means. 
I  stated  to  my  Unitarian  friends  that  you  had  assisted 
me  to  the  extent  of  your  ability,  during  my  college- 
course,  and  that  I  could  not  think  of  applying  to  my 
Orthodox  friends.  I  always  said  that  you  rather 
favored  free  investigation,  and  that  I  esteemed  it 
fortunate  for  myself,  that  my  own  mind  had  not  been 
biassed  by  parental  prejudices.  Of  opposition  from 
our  family  I  have  not  complained.  I  have  some 
times  alluded  to  passing  remarks  of  my  Orthodox 
friends  at  large,  that  I  'was  an  infidel,'  and  worse 
things  than  that. 

"  I  can  readily  see  how  stories  are  exaggerated- 
Unitarians  in  times  past  have  been  somewhat  perse 
cuted.  They  are  expecting  that  every  one  who  leaves 
Orthodoxy  will  meet  with  the  same  treatment,  and 
construe  the  intimations  of  a  wounded,  disappointed 
feeling,  such  as  would  be  perfectly  natural  to  my 
Orthodox  friends,  into  open  opposition.  The  world 


126  LIFE    AT   THE   DIVINITY   SCHOOL. 

will  talk.     I  am  getting  used  to  it.     It  affects  me 
that  my  dear  Mends  at  home  should  be  implicated." 

To  HIS  FATHEB. 
"•CAMBRIDGE  THEOLOGICAL  SBMINABY,  Oct.  21,  1837. 

"  Dear  Father,  —  You  will  gather  from  my  letters 
to  the  family,  something  of  what  I  have  interested 
myself  in,  as  a  stranger  in  these  parts.  Every  place 
in  all  this  region  is  full  of  high  interest.  Last 
Saturday  I  strolled  all  over  Boston,  with  an  epitome 
of  its  ancient  history  in  my  hand,  for  a  guide-book. 
....  I  went  over  the  city  as  a  sort  of  antiquarian. 
You  allude  to  the  library.  'Tis  vast.  We  are  sur 
prised  at  the  great  size  of  many  of  the  old  books. 
Such  were  manifestly  made  for  the  few.  Books  for 
the  many  must  be  small.  The  small  size  of  books  in 
our  day  evinces  a  great  change  in  the  spirit  of  the  age, 
in  reference  to  the  diffusion  and  levelling  of  know 
ledge.  As  one  casts  his  eye  through  the  immense 
alcoves  of  the  library,  all  stored  with  books,  the  very 
titles  of  many  of  which  are  more  than  he  will  be 
able  to  read  or  remember,  he  is  apt  to  feel  saddened 
at  the  thought  of  misspent  hours,  and  of  the  brevity 
of  life  itself.  But  there  may  be  a  mistake  here. 
Our  best  knowledge  does  not  come  from  books,  nor 
even  from  the  world  around  us.  It  comes  from 
ourselves.  Still  I  should  like  to  pass  my  life  with 
such  a  library  in  my  reach." 

To  A.  H. 

"  CAMBRIDGE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY,  Oct.  28,  1837. 

.  .  .  .  "  Friendship,  yes ;  but  I  am  troubled  with 


LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  127 

my  old  difficulty,  —  reserve,  concealment,  wn-com- 
municativeness.  Shall  I,  can  I,  be  free  of  it  ?  What, 
with  you  ?  Yes,  with  you.  You  have  other  friends. 
They  possess  your  heart.  How  can  I  allow  myself 
to  be  introduced  into  mixed  company  ?  •  But  I  am 
too  bad  with  you,  —  too  bad  with  myself.  I  have 
been  thrown  into  tortures  because  I  would  not  say 
any  thing;  and  yet  I  have  suffered  in  the  after 
thought,  when  I  did  communicate.  .  .  .  Yet  in  all 
things  you  must  still  allow  me  to  hesitate,  to  check 
myself,  to  caution  you,  &c.  &c.  Can  the  Ethiopian, 
&c.  ...  I  hate  to  be  obliged,  to  a  friend,  to  reconcile 
all  things.  How  can  I  recapitulate  the  ecstasies  of 
bliss  and  pain,  the  entanglements,  the  self-destruc 
tions  of  those  days !  I  am  impatient,  vexed,  so  full 
of  repining  that  I  can  hardly  write.  I  could  curse 
my  fate.  But  this  is  not  a  right  state  of  mind :  I 
will  pray  for  equanimity  and  submission.  .  .  . 

"  I  wander  about,  dying,  wasting  an  inch  a  day 
in  my  own  solitude.  Come,  Friendship,  from  earth, 
from  heaven,  come !  I  will  rush  to  thine  embrace." 

To  THE  SAME. 

"  Nov.  3.  —  Twenty-four  years  of  my  life  are 
passed,  and  I  have  not  been  myself  yet.  What 
might  have  been,  if,  and  if,  and  if,  I  cannot  now  say. 
Here  I  am,  helpless  as  a  new-born  babe ;  without 
vigor,  without  courage ;  unsupported ;  seeking  sym 
pathy,  but  finding  none ;  seeking  aid  which  is  every 
where  refused.  Yet  I  am  not  altogether  so.  I  have 
another  self ;  a  busy,  every-cfay  self,  —  all  which  the 
world  knows  or  cares  about.  Still  I  am  in  a  sense 


128  LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

so ;  a  sense  that  oppresses  me  with  its  weight,  and 
conies  over  my  spirit  at  times  in  the  full  tide  of  its 
reality.  I  am  too  boundless  in  my  desires  :  nothing 
fills  them.  The  world  itself  cannot  satisfy  me." 

To  HIS  BROTHER  H L. 

"  CAMBRIDGE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY,  Jan.  13,  1838. 

"  It  is  not  well  to  neglect  our  friends.  I  confess  I 
have  done  it.  But  now,  since  all  personal  crises  are 
passed,  and  the  world  knows  me  as  I  am,  I  hope  I 
shall  make  amends  for  my  many  omissions,  and  enter 
with  my  original  freedom  into  the  society  of  those  I 
respect  and  love.  If  there  be  any  wish  on  your  part 
to  know  me  better,  surely  I  am  ready  to  remove  all 
barriers  to  such  information.  I  am  willing  to  appear 
upon  the  confessional  at  any  hour. 

"  Tell  C.  P.  I  think  I  shall  board  myself  this  term. 
My  situation  in  Cambridge  is,  in  the  main,  quite  to 
my  mind.  My  external  circumstances  were  never 
better  adjusted  for  my  happiness.  The  pursuits  of 
the  seminary  are  congenial  with  my  taste ;  the  spirit, 
with  my  feelings." 

To  HIS  COUSIN  G.  L. 
"  CAMBRIDGE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY,  Jan.  16,  1838. 

"My  excuses  for  not  writing  and  confiding  my 
thoughts  to  my  friends,  you  remark  upon  with  con 
siderable  severity.  I  will  only  allude  to  one  thing 
by  way  of  reply,  or  in  farther  extenuation  of  my  con 
duct.  When  one  is  in  a  state  of  doubt,  he  does  not 
know  what  the  result  will  be.  In  his  revolutions  of 
thought,  he  may  come  back  to  the  old  ground.  Of 


LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 


course,  he  will  not  wish  to  disquiet  his  friends  by 
intimations  of  what  is  indefinite  and  uncertain  in  his 
own  mind. 

"  As  to  my  reading  the  Scriptures,  I  wished  to 
represent  to  you  simply,  that,  as  a  consummation,  I 
reperused  the  whole,  more  clearly  to  understand  the 
connections,  bearings,  and  spirit  of  portion  in  relation 
to  portion,  and  of  each  portion  relative  to  the  whole. 
The  Bible  is  the  standard.  It  must  not  bend  to 
our  reason,  and  our  reason  need  not  bend  to  it  ;  for 
they  perfectly  harmonize.  This  is  the  beauty  and 
delightfulness  of  our  condition.  The  revelations  of 
the  Divine  Will,  in  the  Scriptures,  in  Nature,  in 
the  human  heart,  are  all  perfectly  coincident.  They 
are  mutual  supporters  and  illustrators  of  the  same 
glorious  truths.  .  ,  . 

"  Our  '  orbits  '  may  be  different,  but  I  pray  to  God 
that  they  may  be  (  harmonious.'  I  wish  to  do  good. 
My  whole  heart  and  soul,  I  speak  without  boasting, 
are  more  than  ever  bound  up  in  that  great  end.  I 
believe  the  time  is  coming  when  Christians,  Trini 
tarians  or  Unitarians,  will  see  eye  to  eye,  and  will 
learn  to  love  each  other  more,  and  will  feel  that  they 
have  only  one  Master  to  serve,  one  world  to  save, 
and  one  heaven  to  gain.  Christianity,  in  its  true 
development  and  legitimate  action,  is  what  we  want, 
not  '  ans  '  or  '  isms.'  I  wish  I  could  introduce  you 
to  some  of  our  students.  I  am  confident  you  would 
admire  the  manifestations  of  the  genuine  Christian 
character,  however  you  might  deplore  their  theolo 
gical  errors.  .  .  . 

"  I  am  as  happily  situated  at  Cambridge  as  I  can 


130  LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

expect  to  be  anywhere.  The  pursuits  of  theology 
were  ever  most  congenial  with  my  feelings ;  and  our 
daily  tasks  are  only  such  as  give  us  a  pleasant  em 
ployment,  without  fatigue  in  the  application.  Our 
students  are  those  in  whose  intercourse,  social  and 
religious,  I  pass  many  delightful  hours.  The  society 
of  Cambridge  offers  many  attractions  to  such  as  are 
disposed  to  visit.  My  habits  are  rather  reclusive. 
My  occasional  calls  are  exceedingly  pleasant." 

To  HIS  MOTHER. 
"  CAMBRIDGE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY,  March  15,  1838. 

"  My  dear  Mother,  —  The  package  of  letters  from 
home  came  to  my  hands  last  evening.  I  need  not 
express  to  you  the  pleasure  I  feel  in  receiving  the 
kind  memorials  of  so  many  of  our  family.  It  con 
cerns  me  to  know  that  your  numerous  debilities  are 
aggravated  by  a  new  affliction.  I  doubt  not  that  it 
is  a  satisfaction  to  yourself  to  be  assured  that  your 
'  absent  children '  are  sharing  a  degree  of  temporal 
felicity,  which  is  not  always  universally  diffused 
through  so  large  a  family.  For  this,  how  much  are 
we  indebted  to  the  instruction,  example,  and  prayers 
of  our  ever-devoted  mother  !  Long  may  she  live ! 
Long  may  we  be  blessed  with  her  blessings ! 

"  My  last  letter  was  rather  long.  You  see  I  have 
now  taken  a  still  larger  sheet,  and  perhaps  your 
patience  will  be  frightened  even  before  it  is  ex 
hausted.  When  I  purchased,  last  vacation,  these 
mammoth  sheets,  father  wondered  what  I  should  do 
with  them.  Possibly  he  did  not  imagine,  that  he 


LIFE   AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  131 

should  be  set  to  the  task  of  reading  over  the  whole 
of  one  closely  written.  If  the  substance  of  the  epis 
tle  were  equal  to  its  length,  there  might  be  a  com 
pensation  for  reading.  But,  alas  !  I  cannot  promise 
that.  .  .  . 

"  I  need  not  say  that  it  is  my  strong  desire  that 

H i  should  never  appear  in  regimentals  again.    A 

military  spirit  should  rather  be  repressed  than  fos 
tered  in  children." 

"April  10. —  By  a  comparison  of  dates,  you  will 
see  that  some  days  have  elapsed  since  I  last  wrote. 
During  the  interval,  I  have  been  variously  engaged. 
Monday  I  called  on  Dr.  Channing.  He  is  a  man  of 
small  proportions,  very  indifferent  in  his  appearance. 
There  is  nothing  in  his  face,  his  eye,  or  his  head, 
that  indicates  the  great  mind  which  reigns  within. 
He  is  now  quite  indisposed,  —  cannot  talk  with  his 
friends  very  long  at  a  time.  Yet,  from  what  he  did 
say,  it  was  evident  that  his  soul  was  full  of  great 
thoughts,  great  plans  of  progress,  reformation,  and 
Christianization.  He  dwells  not  with  common  men 
or  common  Christians.  He  aspires  to  something 
higher,  holier,  purer.  He  feels  a  deep  interest  in 
the  young  men  of  the  seminary.  He  teaches  us  to 
attempt  and  hope  for  greater  things  than  the  world 
has  yet  seen.  Liberty  and  Christian  love  seem  to  be 
the  ruling  principles  of  his  heart. 

"  Yesterday  I  walked  alone  to  Mount  Auburn,  that 
place  of  beauty  and  death,  of  melancholy  and  de 
light.  All  my  evening  walks  have  been  gladdened 
by  an  unclouded  moon.  When  I  come  out  of  Bos 
ton  unaccompanied  by  any  human  being,  it  is  plea- 


LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 


sant  thus,  at  midnight,  to  look  upon  the  silvery  light, 
and  breathe  in  the  quiet  air.  .  .  . 

"  How  many  times  has  this  e  I  want  '  of  your  chil 
dren  been  repeated  !  When  shall  it  end  ?  Truly,  I 
suppose  you  do  not  wish  it  to  end,  while  you  have 
the  means  to  supply  it  ?  But  it  would  be  pleasant  to 
us  to  return,  in  some  feeble  measure,  the  ten  thousand 
favors  we  have  received  from  our  dear  parents. 
May  God  bless  them  with  his  infinite  fulness  !  " 

To  A.  H. 

"CAMBRIDGE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY,  June  3,  1838. 

"  I  seem  to  myself  to  be  quite  impatient  of  writ 
ing.  There  is  the  vexation  of  waiting  months  for  a 
reply  to  emotions  that  burn  in  the  heart.  Then 
there  is  the  trouble  of  not  being  precisely  under 
stood,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Yet  I  must  write, 
and  write  I  will.  Only  these  despairing  circum 
stances  do  almost  persuade  me  not  to  assume  my 
pen. 

"  I  have  been  very  busy.  The  German  I  have 
commenced,  and  must  give  it  some  study.  I  have 
taxed  myself  to  read  some  French  every  day,  also  to 
prosecute  some  miscellaneous  readings.  Last  week 
was  Anniversary-week,  and  we  were  called  into  Bos 
ton  every  day.  Spring,  too,  has  burst  upon  us  in  all 
its  beauty  and  attractiveness.  This  has  called  me 
much  from  my  room. 

"  But  the  under-current  has  been  ever  flowing. 
Yet  few  know  it,  and  fewer  care  for  it.  It  is  only 
when  my  external  self,  my  known  being,  staggers 
and  reels,  that  I  fear  some  observer  will  detect  the 


LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  133 

hidden  cause.  'Tis  strange  how  I,  that  is,  one  like 
myself,  catch  the  sympathies  of  longing  hearts.  .  .  . 
There  is  now  and  then  a  person  in  this  world 
'  charged ; '  and  you  have  but  to  touch  them,  and  the 
fire  of  their  souls  is  at  once  emitted. 

"You  will  not  think  but  that  other  and  higher 
thoughts  engage  my  attention.  With  you  alone  do 
I  take  the  liberty  of  writing  freely." 

"  June  £9.  —  You  manifestly  dabbled  when  you 
wrote.  But  that  is  sometimes  excusable.  The  mood 
—  ay,  yes,  the  mood  —  'tis  that  gives  us  inspiration. 
When  that  is  off,  to  write  is  like  the  nightmare.  .  .  . 
We  are  strange  creatures.  For  the  good  we  have, 
we  are  thankless.  For  the  good  we  lose,  we  abso 
lutely  rebel.  '  Total  depravity,'  —  well,  so  be  it. 
Heart  is  every  thing,  with  or  without  husband  or 
child.  With,  —  perhaps  'tis  more  than  every  thing. 
There  are  hearts  in  heaven.  We  are  apt  to  think 
of  Christ  only  religiously.  But  did  it  ever  occur  to 
you  (I  am  serious)  that  he  sympathized  with  our 
affection's  heart  ?  He  was  tempted  like  as  we  are, 
was  he  not  ?  Yet  without  sin.  Ay,  there  is  the 
rub,  —  without  sin.  Our  hearts  do  make  us  sin. 

"Aim  at  the  stars,  you  say.  What  if,  in  a  dark 
night,  I  catch  a  glow-worm  ?  .  .  .  Elevated  society 
has  its  drawbacks.  I  love  sometime*  to  escape  to 
the  low,  home-spun  realities  of  common  life.  Its 
rudeness  only  provokes  an  agreeable  humor.  In  it 
you  expect  nothing,  and  never  run  any  risk  of 
disappointment." 


12 


134  LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

SECOND    YEAR    AT    HARVARD. 

To  A.  H. 

"  CAMBRIDGE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY,  Sept.  7,  1838. 

"  I  am  on  the  rack  to-day.  I  pace  my  room, 
'  poke '  my  hair,  seek  the  diversion  of  classmates. 
Let  me  not  write  then.  Let  me  wait  till  I  can  be 
more  calm.  The  impressions  of  the  present  moment 
make  me  somewhat  tumultuous,  somewhat  irregular. 
....  Let  us  despair.  'Tis  well.  Then  we  shall  be 
ready  to  leave  this  world,  to  plume  our  wings  to 
an  upward  flight  to  the  realms  of  everlasting  frui 
tion.  .  .  . 

"Dr.  "W.  pleased  me  very  much.  How  pleasant 
is  it  to  meet,  in  his  own  home,  such  a  man,  whom 
you  have  known  as  Dr.  "W.  on  Depravity,  or  Dr.  W. 
in  controversy  with  Dr.  T.  !  The  man  at  home,  — 
how  much  better  than  the  man  abroad  ;  or,  I  should 
say,  how  much  more  he  comes  to  your  heart ! 

"  I  am  tolerably  unhappy.  Yet  I  should  be 
happy.  Am  lonely,  while  many  are  around  me. 
Yet  I  would  not  be  without  this  heart  of  mine.  .  .  . 
But  I  leave  it  and  all,  —  leave  hope,  and  take  to 
sighing.  No,  let  me  turn  to  a  petrifaction.  Write 
soon  to  Your  wearied,  aching  brother, 

"  SYLVESTER." 

To . 

"  CAMBRIDGE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY,  Sept.  15,  1838. 

"If  the  muse  has  departed,  does  not  her  haunt 
still  remain  ?  Sunsetting  still  comes  to  you,  and 
midnight  and  the  stars.  The  bay  is  still  there,  with 


LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  135 

its  many  islands,  like  the  repose  of  thought,  amidst 
the  eddyings  of  everlasting  being  ;  and  the  ocean, 
with  its  fathomless  heart  of  poetry.  .  .  . 

' l  An  oppressiveness  had  settled  on  my  spirits,  for 
the  dissipation  of  which,  I  hasted  to  seek  the  influ 
ences  of  my  friend,  confident,  nurse,  Nature.  .  .  . 

"  I  love  sometimes  to  utter  myself ;  and  the 
communion  of  congenial  hearts,  —  that  rare  water- 
spring  in  this  desert-world,  —  is  dearer  to  me  than 
all  things  else  this  side  of  eternity.  God  bless  you 
and  love  you,  as  my  Lamb  says.  So  prays  sincerely 
your  friend." 

To  THE  SAME. 

"  NOT.  6,  1838. 

"  Yet  why  do  I  write  ?  What  impulses  summon 
my  pen  to  an  unfamiliar  and  almost  forbidden  duty  ? 
I  have  disciplined  myself  these  years  to  silence ; 
still,  silence  is  my  agony.  Yet  our  very  agonies, 
thus  cherished  till  they  become  a  part  of  our  exist 
ence,  seem  sweet  unto  us.  But — buts,  yets,  dashes 
—  they  are  the  cliffs  and  chasms  that  intersect  the 
path  of  us  mountain-wanderers.  How  much  better, 
then,  to  keep  in  the  smooth  plains  below !  To  the 
heart  is  allowed  no  free  utterance.  It  is  awed  by 
its  own  aspirations ;  it  is  exhausted  by  its  own 
struggles  ;  and  more  —  it  dare  not  trust  its  loved 
emotions  with  a  mocking  world.  Is  this  right  ? 

"  I  write  compactly ;  for  I  know,  that,  if  I  once 
commence,  I  shall  have  much  to  say,  and  still  leave 
all  unsaid.  How  can  we  bring  our  souls  within  the 
compass  of  three  pages  of  a  letter-sheet  ?  And, 


136  LIFE   AT   THE   DIVINITY   SCHOOL. 

besides,  what  if  I  should  never  take  the  letter  from 
my  room  ?  Is  there  no  pleasure  in  a  sort  of  auto- 
correspondence  ? 

"  The  study  of  character  has  been  the  habit,  and 
I  might  say  delight,  of  my  life.  An  irrepressible 
longing  for  sympathy  first  led  me  to  the  observation, 
which  has  received  a  fresh  stimulus  from  the  de 
mands  of  my  profession.  I  have  accustomed  myself 
to  scale  the  heights  of  character,  to  fathom  its 
depths.  The  result  of  this  has  been,  that  there  is 
much  of  genuine  sentiment  in  the  world,  so  we  can 
but  detect  it.  Some  persons  possess  one  point  of 
excellence,  some  another  ;  some  many  points,  some 
few.  So  we  can  meet  one  with  whom  we  sympa 
thize  on  all  points,  how  would  our  souls  rush 
together,  like  sister-angels  !  The  three  indispen 
sable  elements  of  the  perfect  character  are  intellect, 
sentiment,  virtue,  —  these  in  their  broadest  and 
most  embracing  significance. 

"  And  by  virtue  I  do  not  refer  to  the  cant  of  sect, 
or  the  abstractions  of  philosophy,  but  to  all  moral 
excellence,  to  religion  in  its  highest  exercise,  to 
morality  in  its  holiest  practice.  These  qualities, 
blended,  relieved,  sustained,  matured,  constitute  a 
character  which  we  gaze  upon  with  loving  admira 
tion  ;  to  which  we  bow  with  a  delightful  reverence  ; 
and  which  if  we  can  unfold  to  our  own  embrace, 
and  call  in  any  measure  our  own,  we  feel  like 
participants  of  the  heavenly  joys.  The  actual  of 
this  ideal  we  sometimes  see  in  the  world.  But  too 
often  the  excess  or  deficiency  of  some  one  quality 
deforms  and  obscures  the  whole.  Frequently,  when 


LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  137 

those  qualities  combine  in  equal  degrees,  they  are 
not  elevated ;  and,  when  they  are  elevated,  they 
are  not  equal.  Intellect  palsies  sentiment,  and  sen 
timent  is  the  foe  to  virtue,  and  virtue  sometimes 
rises  to  that  bigot-excess  which  looks  with  contempt 
alike  upon  intellect  and  sentiment.  And  then,  more 
often,  the  lustre  of  truly  noble  and  consistent  cha 
racters  is  dimmed  by  some  one  of  those  innumerable 
petty  faults  which  are  grouped  under  what  we  call 
disposition  and  temperament,  such  as  vanity,  selfish 
ness,  petulance,  nervousness,  idiosyncracies  of  all 
sorts.  This  topic  is  exhaustless  ;  but  I  leave  it." 

To  HIS  COUSIN  G.  L. 

•  "NORTHAMPTON,  Feb.  15,  1839. 

"  I  left  Cambridge  in  the  latter  part  of  November. 
My  health  was  not  good.  I  suppose  I  had  indulged 
in  too  close  attention  to  books,  without  sufficiently 
regarding  diet  and  exercise.  My  nervous  system 
became  most  painfully  deranged.  My  system  has 
somewhat  recovered  its  tone,  which  I  attribute,  in 
a  good  measure,  to  the  course  of  protracted  and 
vigorous  exercise  which  I  pursue  every  day.  I  am 
beginning  to  be  sensible,  what  I  have  hitherto,  in  a 
great  measure,  been  indifferent  about,  that  exercise 
is  very  essential  to  the  student.  In  college,  my 
health  was  good  without  exercise.  So  I  was  lulled 
into  the  fatal  notion  that  it  would  always  be.  ...  I 
did  not  think  of  giving  a  dissertation  on  physical 
regimen.  I  have  only  stated  a  bit  of  experience. 
To  me  it  has  been  of  some  service.  If  you  can 
make  use  of  it,  you  are  welcome  to  the  knowledge. 

12* 


138  LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

The  clergy  are  all  sick  and  dying.     What  is  the 
disease  ? " 

To  MBS.  E.  H. 

"  DIVINITY  SCHOOL,  March  18,  1839. 

"  I  often  act  impulsively.  A  disposition  to  speak 
out  the  emotion  of  the  moment  overleaps  the  per 
haps  proper  barriers  of  conventional  decorum.  But 
more  than  this,  and  higher  too,  as  some  think,  —  a 
love  of  sympathy  is  irrepressible  with  me.  This 
passion,  which  plants  itself  in  all  hearts,  seems  to 
have  especially  luxuriated  in  my  own.  Specifically 
and  immeasurably  have  I  looked  for  religious  sym 
pathy.  Always,  I  say,  but  not  so  much  now  as  in 
some  previous  years.  Yet- 1  can  find  but  few  who 
know  what  it  is  to  have  struggled  and  wept.  Life 
and  thought,  with  most,  seem  to  have  been  a  pleasant 
current." 

To  HIS  BROTHER  H L. 

"  April  1,  1839,  CAMBBIDGE. 

"  Dear  Brother,  —  "What  shall  I  say  to  you  ? 
What  shall  I  say  of  myself  ?  Separated,  but  not 
estranged  ;  absent,  but  not  forgetful,  we  should  still 
commune  as  the  spirit  prompteth.  Have  we  been 
long  silent  ?  It  is  our  mistake  and  necessity,  more 
than  our  purpose  and  crime.  We  love  communion ; 
and  none  but  an  imperious  occasion  could  or  should 
interrupt  it. 

"  You  have  sometimes  complained  of  the  crooked 
ness  of  conventional  life.  True,  there  is  much 
wrong.  The  spirit  struggles  to  break  from  un- 


LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  139 

toward  environments ;  rather  does  it  struggle  to 
subdue  them  to  itself,  —  a  noble  conquest,  never 
half-achieved.  Then  do  we  moralize  and  weep. 
These  things  are  disciplinary,  and  serve  the  highest 
good  of  the  soul.  Therefore  do  not  murmur.  Be 
true  thyself,  and  all  things  shall  be  true  about  thee. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  there  is  not  so  much  that  is  false 
as  we  imagine.  No  one  man  is  so  bad  as  we 
conceive.  We  suffer  from  an  optical  illusion.  In 
contemplating  the  multitude,  the  little  bad  that  each 
man  possesses  is  presented  to  us  in  the  aggregate  of 
the  whole,  and  our  judgments  become  severe  as  our 
aversion  is  intense.  All  the  vices  of  society  should 
not  be  visited  upon  one  man.  Give  each  his  due. 
Make  individual  man  more  your  study.  He  is 
natural ;  society  is  artificial.  He  is  true  ;  society 
is  false.  Society  is  the  masquerade  of  humanity. 
Under  each  mask  you  will  detect  the  true  man,  and 
be  satisfied.  Study,  then,  the  individual  man.  You 
will  find  in  each  the  same  uneasiness,  the  same 
craving,  the  same  aspiration,  in  a  measure,  which 
you  may  have  thought  peculiar  to  yourself.  Hu 
manity,  —  that  is,  what  is  common  to  all  men,  what 
each  man  possesses,  —  is  a  vast  and  rich  field  of 
observation.  Look  beyond  the  adventitious,  the 
trappings  and  tinsel  which  all  despise  as  much  as 
you  do,  and  you  will  discover  much  to  delight, 
much  to  profit  and  content  you.  Dissatisfaction 
with  man  is  not  well.  It  bodes  no  good.  It  impairs 
the  energies  of  reform.  It  embitters  the  soul.  It 
frustrates  the  ends  of  human  existence. 

"  Excuse  this  homily.    It  does  us  good  to  reflect ; 


140  LIFE    AT   THE   DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

to  check  the  course  of  our  thinking,  and  compare 
ourselves  with  others,  —  compare  our  prevailing 
speculations  with  man  as  he  is. 

"Your  health,  we  all  hope,  will  soon  be  estab 
lished.  Be  patient.  Let  few  things  irritate  you. 
Don't  overdo.  Health  is  a  more  valuable  acquisition 
than  property,  wives,  any  good  except  truth.  Bow 
submissively  to  the  Infinite  Will. 

"  I  have  been  to  walk  to-day  to  Mount  Auburn. 
A  delightful  day,  delightful  spot,  delightful  com 
pany,  delightful  time.  'Tis  well  to  dip  into  society. 
You  will  sometimes  bring  up  pearls  even  from  mud, 
diamonds  from  sand.  The  world  is  rich  in  hearts, 
heads.  Fear  not.  Man  was  not  made  to  be  feared, 
but  to  be  loved.  Love  will  draw  all  hearts  after 
you. 

"  Let  me  have  a  letter  from  you  soon.  Speak  all. 
Repress  no  feeling.  Dark  thoughts  become  light 
when  brought  into  sunshine. 

"I  am  quite  well,  and  life  is  pleasurable. 

"Your  brother  most  affectionately." 

To . 

"  DIVINITY  COLLEGE,  CAMBRIDGE,  April  2,  1839. 

"  The  impressions  of  such  a  day  as  yesterday  are 
too  decided  to  be  lost  in  a  few  changes  of  the  dial- 
plate.  Yet  I  cannot  recount  them,  —  shall  not 
attempt  it.  Mount  Auburn,  the  spirit's  home,  the  an 
swering  nature  to  what  we  cherish  in  our  own  hearts 
with  so  intense  a  love;  the  dear,  sweet  spot  that 
kindles  emotion  but  to  tranquillize  it,  and  awakens 
thought  but  to  sanctify  it ;  the  receptacle  of  the  dead, 


LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  141 

and  yet  the  life  of  the  living  ;  its  deep,  solemn,  silent, 
melancholy  shades ;  its  evergreens,  so  like  immor 
tality,  —  its  leafless  trees,  so  like  death ;  Mount  Au 
burn  —  my  very  thoughts  die  out  in  utterance.  Let 
me  be  silent;  let  me  sit  still  and  feel.  The  soul 
would  lie  down  in  the  repose  of  a  solemn  contempla 
tion  and  an  earnest  listening.  The  shade  and  the 
sunlight,  the  dell  and  the  slope,  the  verdure  and 
the  searedness,  come  over  us  with  a  refreshing,  sub 
duing  influence. 

"  The  emotion  of  such  an  hour,  —  is  it  not  one, 
indivisible  ?  Does  it  admit  of  definition  or  ana 
lysis  ?  Subtile,  how  can  we  seize  it !  Vast,  how  can 
we  confine  it !  Yet  real  is  it  as  our  own  life,  deep  as 
our  own  eternity. 

"  I  would  die  among  my  own  kindred ;  but  I  wish 
to  be  buried  in  Mount  Auburn.  If  an  ancient  fancy 
were  true,  that  the  spirit  delights  to  revisit  the  place 
of  our  sepulture,  mine  should  come  to  a  place  so 
sweet,  so  lovely.  It  should  hardly  miss  its  heaven 
for  it. 

"  We  were  speaking  of  a  sense  of  unworthiness 
before  God.  Did  you  allude  to  the  subject  because 
you  thought  I  cherished  too  much  assurance  ?  Yet 
I  am  persuaded,  I  cannot  doubt,  —  except  in  those 
moments  when  we  seem  insanely  to  doubt  of  every 
thing,  — (  He  that  loveth  is  born  of  God ; '  and 
nothing  can  disturb  that  conviction.  'Tis  to  me  as 
my  own  life. 

"  We  grovel  too  much.  We  take  our  flight  be 
neath  the  clouds,  and  become  immersed  in  their 
shadows  and  drippings.  If  we  would  but  mount 


LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 


above  them,  we  should  see  these  gloomy  masses 
permeated  and  transparent  with  the  light  of  the  all- 
enlightening  sun.  As  we  approach  that  luminary, 
we  become  light  ourselves,  and  all  things  glow  with 
light  about  us.  To  an  inhabitant  of  the  sun,  there 
is  not  a  dark  spot  on  the  face  of  the  universe. 

"  Truth  is  light,  love  is  light,  God  is  light.  Truth, 
Love,  God  —  O  my  soul  !  By  what  art  thou  sur 
rounded  !  To  what  canst  thou  attain  !  How  glo 
rious  may  be  thy  life  !  Yet  how  dost  thou  fold  thy 
wings,  make  feet  of  thy  hands  and  claws  of  thy  feet, 
and  crawl  about  in  the  dark  caverns,  the  slimy  pits, 
of  this  nether  world  !  Arouse,  O  angel  within  me  ! 
Shake  from  thy  pinions  the  dusty  coatings  of  earth. 
Start  thee  on  thy  celestial  flight.  Falter  not,  till 
thou  shalt  rest,  serene,  secure,  and  blest,  in  the  high 
est  heaven  of  truth,  love,  and  God." 

To  HIS  SISTER  P  -  N. 

"  CAMBRIBGK,  April  6,  1839. 

"  How  does  my  young  sister  do  ?  Is  she  happy, 
and  making  all  happy  with  whom  she  has  inter 
course  ?  Make  the  most  of  your  youth.  It  will 
soon  be  past,  and  no  earnest  wishes  can  recall  it. 
Your  young  years  are  given  you  to  be  happy  in  and 
to  be  good  in.  Be  both.  Be  good,  and  you  will  be 
happy. 

"  How  is  your  grammar  ?  Have  you  learned  how 
to  dispose  of  the  infinitive  mode  ?  Your  parsing 
lessons  seem  uncommonly  perplexing  to  you.  But 
practice  makes  perfect.  The  nominative  case  will 
not,  by  and  by,  skulk  behind  the  objective,  and  the 


LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  143 

adverbs  get  hid  among  the  adjectives,  where  you 
cannot  find  them.  They  love  to  play  bo-peep  awhile  ; 
but  they  will  grow  tired  of  it  before  long.  And 
then  the  rules  are  so  apt  to  slip  away.  You  must 
tie  a  string  to  them,  and  hang  them  up,  each  one  on 
its  own  nail.  You  sometimes  put  two  or  three 
on  one  nail,  or  else  one  on  another's  nail,  and,  when 
you  come  to  take  them  down,  you  find  you  are  using 
the  wrong  one. 

"  I  suppose,  now  I  am  gone,  that  knob  of  hair 
gets  posted  up  on  the  back  side  of  your  head,  like  a 
hump  on  a  camel's  back.  I  am  sorry  you  wish  to 
be  an  old  woman  so  soon.  You  will  be  glad  enough, 
by  and  by,  to  go  back  to  the  short  hair  or  braided 
ringlets  of  your  girlhood." 

To  A.  H. 

"  CAMBRIDGE,  April  6,  1839. 

"  In  the  progress  of  the  heart,  we  have  a  thousand 
casual,  incipient,  stray  thoughts  and  feelings,  such 
perhaps  as  should  never  be  expressed,  but  which, 
when  expressed,  are  exceedingly  liable  to  be  mis 
understood.  They  possess  no  meaning  that  you  can 
explain,  no  end  or  aim  that  you  would  acknowledge. 
Yet  stir  they  within  us,  and  it  pleases  to  give  them 
utterance  to  a  trusty  ear.  Beyond  this,  we  cannot 
allow  them  to  be  spoken,  even  to  our  best  friends. 
These  feelings  have  no  consistent  character.  They 
are  one  thing  to-day,  and  another  to-morrow.  They 
vary  with  persons,  places.  How  unsafe,  then,  to 
unfold  them  to  the  world !  There  is  a  key,  indeed, 
that  explains  the  whole  ;  but  who  has  it  ?  " 


144  LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

To  HIS  MOTHER. 

"  CAMBRIDGE,  April  6,  1839. 

"  Dear  Mother,  —  I  am  in  the  way  of  writing  let 
ters  this  morning ;  and  although,  according  to  the 
strict  rules  of  epistolary  ethics,  I  can  hardly  feel 
that  I  am  in  your  debt,  yet  am  I  constrained  to  give 
you  also  a  word. 

"  In  the  first  place,  with  regard  to  my  health,  it 
has  never  been  better  than  during  the  past  week.  I 
know,  when  we  speak  of  health,  we  refer  to  a  per 
manent  state  of  the  system ;  but  I  am  very  grateful 
for  a  week's  soundness  and  stability.  It  is  an  augury 
of  good  to  come.  I  walk  from  six  to  eight  miles  a 
day,  and  purpose  that  nothing  shall  interfere  with 
the  habit.  Our  hold  on  health  is  not  sure.  While 
life  is  ours,  may  we  live  well,  then  shall  we  die 
safely." 

To  HIS  COUSIN  G.  L. 

"  DIVINITY  SCHOOL,  CAMBRIDGE,  April  9,  1839. 

"  A  letter  from  A.  speaks  of  a  revival  of  religion 
in  the  Mount  Holyoke  Seminary,  and  adds  that 
cousin  T.  has  been  particularly  interested.  Can  any 
one  rejoice  more  than  I  do,  that  your  sister  has  come 
at  last  to  the  enjoyment  of  her  true  life  ?  Can  any 
one  appreciate,  more  than  I,  the  value  of  that  change 
by  which  the  soul  unfolds  itself  to  divine  influences, 
and  becomes  a  partaker  of  the  *  divine  nature '  ? 
Truly  this  is  the  end  of  our  being.  For  this  does 
the  soul  aspire.  Any  thing  short  of  this  is  a  check 
upon  our  nature.  We  wander  about  like  lost  sheep, 
straying  from  the  fold  of  the  divine  Shepherd.  We 


LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  145 

find  no  green  pastures,  no  still  waters.  God  ad 
dresses  us,  *  Return,  O  wanderers,  return,  and  ye 
shall  find  rest  unto  your  souls.'  Do  we  thus  return, 
do  we  go  back  to  our  Father's  house,  are  we  rein 
stated  in  a  Father's  love,  —  what  a  heaven  is  ours  ! 

"  A  revival  of  religion,  while  it  appeals  to  the 
deepest  susceptibilities  of  the  human  mind,  has  some 
thing  unnatural  about  it.  It  makes  religion  too 
much  a  matter  of  times  and  seasons,  of  places  and 
positions,  of  formularies  and  plans.  It  generates 
something  of  a  false,  superficial,  temporizing  piety. 
And  yet  I  suppose  great  deference  is  due  to  the 
spirit  of  the  times.  If  this  demands  what  are  gene 
rally  known  as  revivals,  it  will  have  them,  and  you 
will  find  it  difficult  to  convert  men  in  any  other  way. 
This  spirit  does  not  prevail  equally  in  all  denomina 
tions.  Which  has  the  advantage,  I  will  not  judge. 
It  is  a  curious  fact,  that  Methodists  are  rarely  con 
verted,  except  in  camp-meetings.  So  each  denomi 
nation  has  its  modus  operandi.  This  is  somewhat 
natural  and  scriptural,  somewhat  unnatural  and  un- 
scriptural.  Who  shall  strike  the  balance  ?  " 

To . 

"DIVINITY  SCHOOL,  April  10,  1839. 

"  This  meeting  of  friends,  it  is  the  feast-day  of  the 
soul.  All  mortal  joys  do  minister  to  a  noble  friend 
ship.  Such  communion  shall  the  stars  nightly  bless. 
If  it  be  less  intense,  it  possesses  fewer  alloys  than 
love.  If  it  does  not  transport  like  love,  it  suffers 
less  from  jealousy.  It  is  more  divine  than  love,  — 
such  love  as  is  rife  in  the  world,  —  because  the  lat- 

13 


146  LIFE    AT   THE   DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

ter  often  originates  in  the  inferior  passions,  while 
the  former  springs,  pure,  ingenuous,  angelic,  from  the 
heart  of  the  soul.  I  believe  your  sex  is  favored  as 
regards  friendship.  There  is  but  little  of  the  genuine 
emotion  in  ours.  The  habits  of  men  are  too  com 
mercial  and  restrained,  too  bustling  and  noisy,  too 
ambitious  and  repellant,  for  the  cultivation  of  those 
nice  sensibilities  on  which  a  true  friendship  rests. 
"Women  are  the  bonds  of  society,  and  the  conser- 
vating  principle  in  human  intercourse.  Their  secu 
lar  aspirations  never  lead  them  to  isolation,  either 
the  isolation  of  solitude  or  the  isolation  of  superiority. 
Their  susceptibilities  are  so  ardent,  that,  if  raised 
into  elevated  positions,  like  waves  of  the  sea,  they 
soon  melt  into  the  common  mass  around  them. 
Men  are  like  mountains,  bold,  icy,  moveless,  that 
woo  the  winds  and  worship  the  stars,  but  frown  an 
eternal  defiance  at  each  other.  Yet  does  man  turn 
to  woman  for  those  resources  of  sympathy  and  love, 
without  which  he  must  die.  I  cannot  say,  indeed, 
but  there  is  something  generous,  chivalric  at  least, 
in  a  man's  declining  intercourse  with  his  fellow -man, 
that  he  may  offer  an  undivided  confidence  to  woman. 
Still  I  wish,  for  my  own  happiness  at  least,  that  we 
were  more  disposed  to  cultivate  the  friendly  rela 
tions. 

"  Is  there  no  friend  for  me  ?  Is  there  no  Damon 
to  my  Pythias  ?  It  is  a  notion  which  I  humor  my 
self  in  indulging,  that  there  is,  somewhere  in  the 
world,  somebody  just  like  me,  whose  modes  of 
thought,  habits  of  philosophizing,  intellectual  and 
religious  training  and  discipline,  whose  aspirations, 


LIFE   AT  THE   DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  147 

hopes,  doubts,  whose  idiosyncracies  and  eccentrici 
ties,  are  the  counterpart  of  my  own.  You  smile  at 
this ;  and  so  do  I,  and  call  it  all  a  dream.  Yet  we 
lire  to  dream.  But  to  come  to  what  is  realizable. 
I  hope  to  encounter  some  one  who  will  be  as  much 
to  me  as  I  expect  ever  to  be  to  any  one.  More  than 
this,  I  cannot  ask.  Can  you  direct  me  to  such  a 
one ;  one  who,  while  he  retains  the  distinctive  pecu 
liarities  of  his  own  person,  will  be  so  much  like  me 
as  to  welcome  me  to  the  full  communion  of  his  heart  ? 
I  am  growing  very  egotistical  and  prosy." 

"djnil  14,  Sunday.  —  '"Welcome,  sweet  day  of 
rest,'  —  day  that  shines  on  millions  of  our  race  with 
a  refreshing  light :  my  eyes  rejoice  in  thy  dawning, 
my  heart  awakes  to  worship  and  to  praise.  Yet  do 
sad  reflections  press  upon  my  spirits.  With  what  a 
discordant  note  are  the  voices  of  men  sent  up  to  the 
eternal  Ear !  Are  not  these  voices  impeded  on  their 
way  by  so  much  of  strife  and  collision  ?  and  do  they 
not  die  away,  mid-heaven  ?  Angels  might  close  their 
ears  to  such  music  as  ours.  As  we  have  one  com 
mon  Father,  so  can  we  never  have  one  common 
worship  ? 

"And  then,  in  its  own  character,  how  deficient  is 
the  worship  of  Christendom!  What  does  it  lack? 
So  far  as  the  answer  can  be  given  in  one  word,  I 
should  say  heartiness.  It  needs  an  earnest  soul,  an 
active  spirituality,  an  intense  humility.  We  do  not 
require  a  new  soul,  but  the  thorough  agitation  of 
the  old  one.  Revivals  and  sermons,  the  representa 
tions  of  heaven  and  hell,  all  of  which  do  but  affect 
the  soul  outwardly,  as  I  may  say,  are  not  so  much 


148  LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

required ;  but  quiet,  retirement,  introversion,  solemn 
self-questionings,  thorough,  self-explorations.  We 
hear  much  of  the  worth  of  the  soul,  and  that  worth 
is  usually  measured  out  to  us  in  terms  of  duration, 
or  in  estimates  of  pleasure  and  pain ;  while  few  seem 
to  imagine  that  the  soul  is  valuable  for  what  it  is  in 
itself.  But  what  is  it  in  itself?  How  few  know! 
How  few  trouble  themselves  to  inquire !  How  little 
do  our  public  ministrations  teach !  We  occupy  our 
selves  with  gazing  into  eternity,  and  wishing  we 
were  there,  as  if  eternity  were  not  within  us.  Love 
in  the  soul  is  heaven  there.  Good  thoughts  are 
angels.  Good  fancies  are  golden  streets  and  gates  of 
pearls.  Christ  attends  us  with  all  the  sympathies 
of  an  elder  and  a  divine  Brother's  love.  God,  the 
eternal  Spirit,  is  about  us  and  over  us ;  that  unre- 
plenished  light  which  no  night-shadows  immerse,  no 
clouds  obscure.  He  who  loveth  is  immortal.  What 
wait  we  for  more  ?  Simply  that  this  body,  that 
invests  us  like  a  drapery  of  mist,  may  dissolve  and 
melt  away.  So  shall  we  come  to  the  undimmed 
visions  of  eternal  glories. 

"  I  look  for  no  millennium,  for  no  extension  of 
Christ's  kingdom,  for  no  progress  in  ethics,  for  no 
•substantial  advance  in  the  common  principles  of 
morality,  till  men  shall  come  to  realize  that  they  have 
souls.  I  love  preaching,  I  love  the  sabbath.  But 
these  must  be  so  improved  as  to  restore  man  to  him 
self,  or  their  highest  efficacy  will  not  be  secured. 
When  I  grow  tired  of  hoping,  then  I  sing,  — 

1  Thine  earthly  sabbaths,  Lord,  I  love ; 
But  there's  a  nobler  rest  above.'  " 


LIFE   AT   THE   DIVINITY   SCHOOL.  149 

"April  18. —  Dr.  Follen  gave  his  last  lecture  on 
Atheism  yesterday  evening.  The  Theistical  problem, 
is  it  not  vast  ?  Are  we  not  confounded  when  we 
would  tell  what  God  is  ;  what  Nature  is  ?  Is  Pan 
theism  a  system  unnaturally  unnatural  ?  Do  we  not 
discover  Pantheistic  tendencies  working  in  all  minds  ? 
The  Infinite  One,  eZf  KCU.  ndv.  The  tendency  of  phi 
losophy  is  to  generalize,  ad  infinitum,  which  is,  to 
reduce  all  things  to  the  one.  This  result  can  only 
be  prevented  by  the  instinctive  repulsion  of  our  na 
ture.  Reason  tends  to  unity ;  spontaneity,  to  variety. 
Reason  seeks  for  resemblances  :  spontaneity  forces  us 
to  acknowledge  differences.  And  then  our  religion 
does  sometimes  lead  us  to  the  confession  of  universal 
absorption,  —  God  in  us,  and  we  in  God.  Our  hours 
of  reverie  also  do  carry  us  away  from  our  individu 
ality.  We  follow  in  the  track  of  some  principle,  — 
existence,  extension,  life,  heat,  —  pursuing  our  course 
through  men,  trees,  the  earth,  sun  and  stars,  till  we 
have  made  the  compass  of  universal  being.  "We 
discover  an  inexorable  oneness  binding  together 
all  objects  and  creations.  We  begin  to  lose  our 
selves  in  the  vast  conflux  of  existences  to  an  indis 
tinguishable  identity ;  and  then,  for  fear  of  an  irre 
trievable  perdition,  to  be  sure  that  any  individuality 
remains,  I  pinch  my  hand,  get  up  and  walk,  feel 
proud,  any  thing,  that  I  may  return  to  my  identity, 
and  rescue  myself  from  the  horrible  sensation  of 
being  swallowed  up  in  the  infinite  abyss  of  the 
One  ! " 

"April  21.  —  Can  we  reach  the  friendship  we 
long  for  ?     And  how  does  it  dissolve  in  our  hands 

13* 


150  LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

like  snow-flakes,  when  we  have  grasped  it !  It  is  not 
strange  that  we  grow  jealous  of  that  which  we  prize 
most  highly.  It  is  not  strange  that  we  return  with 
a  melancholy  repugnance  to  that  life  of  loneliness 
and  heart-aching,  from  which  the  voice  of  love  and 
friendship  has  once  summoned  us,  —  a  condition 
rendered  doubly  caustic  from  the  recollection  of  in 
tervening  felicities." 

"  April  23.  —  The  intensity  of  an  emotion  is  some 
times  the  direct  means  of  its  relief.  Our  heaviest 
wretchednesses  do  sometimes,  of  very  grief,  like  chil 
dren,  cry  themselves  to  sleep.  Eternal  Silence  !  on 
thy  bosom  let  me  rest.  Breathe  upon  me,  O  breath 
of  Silence !  that  this  tumultuous  heart  may  be  sub 
dued  into  a  calm  slumber." 

To  HIS  BROTHER  H 1. 

"DIVINITY  SCHOOL,  CAMBRIDGE,  April  28,  1839. 

"  My  dear  Brother,  —  You  are  our  youngest  bro 
ther,  and,  as  such,  must  ever  claim  a  peculiar  share 
in  our  solicitudes  and  love.  Have  we  at  any  time 
been  arbitrary,  or  exacting,  or  capricious,  yet  do  we 
not  love  you  the  less.  You  have  now  left  your 
father's  house,  and  entered  upon  your  apprenticeship 
to  the  business  of  life.  You  are  thrown  into  cir 
cumstances  of  increased  responsibility  and  multiplied 
dangers.  Of  what  concern  is  it  that  you  set  out  well ! 
Listen,  then,  to  a  brother's  counsel,  which  he  gives 
from  the  love  he  bears  you,  and  also  from  some  ex 
perience  of  the  necessities  of  your  new  situation. 

"  Be  faithful.  In  all  duties  that  come  under  your 
charge,  execute  them  to  their  fullest  demand.  Slight 


LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  151 

nothing.  Slur  over  nothing.  Be  always  '  on  hand.' 
Let  it  make  no  difference  whether  your  employers 
are  present  or  absent ;  but  do  every  thing  well,  and 
equally  well  at  all  times. 

"  Be  honest.  I  am  told  that  some  merchants  and 
booksellers  are  not  so  honest  as  they  should  be. 
This  is  very  wrong,  'tis  very  wicked.  Cultivate  the 
principle  of  honesty,  that  you  may  be  scrupulous  in 
all  things.  Do  not  allow  yourself  to  be  influenced  by 
the  loose  example  of  any,whom  you  may  see  doing 
wrong.  Always  give  the  half-cent  when  it  is  due. 
Give  a  fair  account  of  all  the  goods  you  dispose  of. 
Take  no  advantage  of  the  ignorance  of  others,  but 
rather  enlighten  them.  Disdain  all  low  tricks  of 
trade.  Be  in  all  things  open,  frank,  fair,  as  you 
wish  others  to  be  with  you. 

"  You  are,  indeed,  partly  in  the  employ  of  your 
brother ;  but  you  must  not  expect  indulgence  on  that 
account.  You  must  consider  that  in  all  business- 
relations,  he  will  treat  with  you  as  with  any  other 
clerk ;  that  he  will  be  as  strict  in  his  requisitions, 
and  as  severe  in  his  reproofs. 

"Be  very  careful  in  the  choice  of  your  compa 
nions.  There  are  many  unprincipled  men  and  boys 
in  the  city.  Never  associate,  not  for  an  hour,  with 
one  whose  character  is  in  any  degree  suspicious.  If 
any  one  is  profane,  or  uses  vulgar  or  profane  lan 
guage,  or  if  he  would  tempt  you,  in  the  least,  to  any 
vice  or  dissipation,  shun  him  as  you  would  a  viper. 
Break  off  all  intercourse  with  him.  There  are  young 
men,  in  the  city,  of  good  and  estimable  characters, 
whose  acquaintance  you  may  seek,  and  by  whose 


LIFE    AT   THE   DIVINITY   SCHOOL. 


society  you  may  be  profited.  But  it  is  not  best,  at 
first,  to  have  too  many  acquaintances.  Make  your 
acquaintance  slowly.  Reserve  your  time  for  other 
things.  Read  as  much  as  you  can.  Do  you  not 
have  many  leisure-moments  which  could  be  devoted 
to  reading  ?  You  are  surrounded  by  books.  Can 
you  not  make  much  use  of  this  privilege  ?  Every 
bookseller  should  be  acquainted  with  the  character 
of  the  books  he  sells.  Spend  your  evenings  in  read 
ing.  Do  not  read  many  novels,  but  take  more  sub 
stantial  books,  such  as  history,  biography,  travels. 
By  and  by,  you  will  come  to  relish  poetry,  philosophy, 
metaphysics,  &c. 

'  '  Above  all  things,  my  dear  brother,  cultivate  your 
religious  character.  Daily  read  a  portion  of  the 
Scriptures.  Daily  lift  your  heart  in  prayer  to  your 
heavenly  Father.  Seek  his  guidance  and  protection. 
Make  him  the  object  of  your  supreme  aflections. 
He  will  listen  to  your  prayers.  He  will  surround 
you  with  his  influences.  He  will  preserve  you  in  the 
hour  of  temptation. 

"  Be  regular  in  your  attendance  at  church  on  Sun 
days.  Do  not  trifle  away  the  Lord's  day,  as  some 
young  men  are  disposed  to  do.  Occupy  its  leisure 
hours  in  meditation,  or  in  reading  books  of  a  devo 
tional  character,  or  such  as  tend  to  cultivate  your 
moral  and  intellectual  nature. 

"Strive  in  all  things  to  be  a  man,  &  good  man. 
Do  not  regard  the  low  standard  of  character  that 
may  prevail  around  you.  Embrace  high  and  noble 
principles.  Be  disinterested,  be  self-denying.  Do 
not  think  that  the  great  object  of  life  is  to  make 


LIFE    AT    THE   DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  153 

money,  but  rather  to  elevate  and  purify  your  own 
character,  that  you  may  be  a  blessing  to  the  world. 
Let  all  with  whom  you  associate  feel  that  you  are  a 
young  man  of  principle ;  that  you  cannot  stoop  to 
vice,  or  be  drawn  aside  by  error. 

"  Be  kind.  Love  all  men.  Make  your  brothers, 
your  sisters,  all  with  whom  you  associate,  happy  by 
your  presence. 

"  That  you  may  be  and  become  all  such  as  we 
wish  and  counsel,  is  the  earnest  prayer  of 

Your  Brother." 


To 


"DIVINITY  SCHOOL,  June  14,  1839. 

"If  you  observe  the  dates — but  what  are  dates? 
The  soul  knows  no  dates.  Successions  are  they  of 
sun-risings,  meal-taking,  heart-aches.  They  do  in 
terfere  with  the  unbroken  oneness  of  the  soul's  being. 
Yet,  in  time,  according  to  the  laws  of  succession, 
the  soul  does  vary,  revolve.  Week  rolls  upon  week, 
and  the  heart  pours  along  its  floods  evermore.  I  have 
seized  my  pen ;  but  the  ink,  that  comes  flowing  from 
my  inkstand,  glimmers  and  is  quenched  in  the  utter 
despair  of  my  heart,  of  my  life.  Felt  you  ever  so, 
when  the  wildest  impulses  of  your  nature  tempted 
and  urged  you  to  an  #ct,  which  a  still  stronger 
impulse  would  not  suffer  to  be  done  ?  Rosalie 
[Allston's  painting],  Corinne,  and  then  the  vile 
admixtures,  the  obstinate  interference  of  this  me 
chanical  world,  the  imperiousness  of  expediency, 
the  impudence  of  discretion,  and  then  my  own 
faltering,  tameless  nature. 


154  LIFE   AT  THE   DIVINITY   SCHOOL. 

.  ..."  I  do  not  forget  your  doctrine,  that  a  direct 
expression  of  sympathy  is  not  always  needed  or 
desirable,  objectively  or  subjectively.  But  the  op 
pressiveness  of  sympathy  may  be  as  caustic  and  rest 
less  as  the  agony  of  our  subjective  emotions,  and 
equally  demands  our  utterance.  The  greatest  evils 
of  life  are  not  always  so  much  the  pain  received  into 
our  own  breasts,  as  the  sufferings  we  inflict,  either 
in  the  way  of  cause  or  occasion,  upon  others.  Nor 
is  a  consciousness  of  rectitude  on  our  part  always 
sufficient  to  prevent  the  ingress  and  corrosion  of  this 
reflex  agony. 

"  The  language  of  sympathy  is  brief  and  direct : 
indeed  it  is  not  so  much  a  language  as  an  action ; 
and  its  power  lies,  not  so  much  in  utterance  as  in 
silence.  Those  nights  when  the  sleepless  heart 
struggles  with  a  wearied  body,  how  bad  they  are ! 
The  eye,  shut  from  objects  which  the  light  of  day 
brings  to  its  relief,  fastens  with  a  wild  intensity 
and  aching  minuteness  on  those  scenes  which  have 
interested  the  heart." 

To  A.  H. 

"  CAMBRIDGE,  June  27,  1839. 

"  A  philosophical  tranquillity,  if  it  were  attainable, 
is  perhaps  at  all  times  our  most  desirable  condition. 
At  least,  it  is  natural  for  us  to  grow  averse  to  those 
things  which  have  flattered  and  lured  the  soul  into 
a  perpetual  disappointment  and  pain.  As  to  myself, 
I  can  say  nothing.  'The  end  of  man  were  an 
action,  not  a  thought,  though  it  were  the  noblest.' 
Let  us,  then,  'do  that  which  lies  next  us.'  So  we 


LIFE    AT    THE   DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

bestir  ourselves,  we  may  set  agoing  the  mists  that 
crowd  heavily  upon  us,  and  they  shall  all  roll  away 
into  the  infinite  void." 

To  HIS  BROTHER  H 1. 

"  DIVINITY  SCHOOL,  CAMBRIDGE,  June  29,  1839. 

"  The  anti-war  question  has  been  pretty  thorough 
ly  discussed  in  the  seminary ;  and  we  are  perhaps 
surprised  to  find  that  our  whole  school,  with  scarcely 
an  individual  exception,  sustains  the  position,  that 
all  war,  offensive  and  defensive,  is  inconsistent  with 
the  spirit  of  Christianity.  This  is  a  result,  which, 
as  I  am  aware,  has  not  been  reached  in  any  other 
seminary,  literary  or  theological,  in  the  country. 
It  is  in  no  way  of  boasting,  when  I  intimate  that 
Unitarianism  is  most  peculiarly  fitted  for  such  a 
conclusion.  Its  idea  of  the  worth  of  man,  as  man, 
and  its  faith  in  the  indestructible  principles  of  hu 
man  virtue,  render  such  a  decision  comparatively 
easy.  We  see  that  the  man  is  too  valuable  to  be 
shot  down  for  the  capricious  and  *  honorable '  ends 
of  government.  And  we  believe  too,  that,  if  a  right 
course  is  pursued,  all  disputes  which  agitate  nations 
may  be  settled  by  appeals  to  the  exalted  sentiments 
of  the  soul.  I  would  insinuate  nothing,  in  this 
connection,  against  other  denominations.  I  believe 
that  all,  in  some  way  or  other,  will  eventually  arrive 
at  the  same  results.  I  only  claim  for  ourselves  a 
little  vantage-ground.  As  regards  non-resistance, 
there  are  some  questions  connected  with  it  which 
some  of  us  find  it  difficult  to  settle.  However,  our 
only  inquiry  is,  What  would  Christ  do  ?  What  does 


156  LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

he  in  all  strictness  require  of  us  ?  The  testing  fires 
of  a  life-struggle  are  before  us,  and  will  prove  the 
genuineness  of  our  resolves.  .  .  . 

"Suppose  you  should  say,  you  could  not  con 
scientiously  serve  in  the  militia.  Then  would  they 
not  thrust  you  through  an  iron  door,  and  feed  you 
on  bread  and  water?  Yet  these  same  iron  doors 
have  been  sometimes  an  heaven's  vestibule ;  and 
bread  and  water,  angels'  food.  Be  courageous  in 
thine  own  purposes.  Stick  fast  to  thy  position,  and 
the  world  will  come  round  to  you.  You  cannot  go 
round  to  it.  The  race  is  moving.  Make  a  Chris- 
tianly  and  true  life  of  the  present.  Here  lies  our 
hope.  The  world  has  ever  needed  a  regeneration, 
—  never  more  than  now.  Thy  own  true  life  shall 
be  the  spirit  that  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and 
makes  roses  in  the  desert,  a  new  creation  from  sur 
rounding  death. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  know  of  your  progress.  But, 
if  you  cannot  write,  still  live,  and  all  men  shall  be 
your  epistle  unto  me.  —  Your  Brother,  in  much 
love,  hope,  and  consolation." 


To  . 

"  DIVINITY  SCHOOL,  July  6, 1839. 

"  I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  a  slight  misunder 
standing  sometimes  affects  me  more  than  the  most 
serious  differences.  In  the  latter  case,  the  hope  of 
reconciliation  leaves  us,  and  the  soul  summons  all 
its  powers  of  endurance.  In  the  former  we  are 
balanced  in  suspense,  which  is  the  most  intolerable 
of  all  conditions. 


LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  157 

"  There  are  but  few  in  whom  the  intellectual 
and  sentimental  developments  are  equal  and  perfect. 
When  there  is  a  consistent  harmony  of  these  some 
what  antagonistic  qualities,  then  is  our  admiration 
and  love  more  especially  interested.  In  the  general, 
we  see  but  parts  of  men  in  men.  The  great  lump, 
humanity,  is  sliced  and  divided,  the  portions  distri 
buted.  To  some  is  given  an  eighth,  to  some  a 
quarter,  while  some  get  only  a  paring.  To  attain 
our  ends,  we  —  that  is,  those  in  whom  the  perfect 
humanity  resides  —  are  obliged  to  make  the  circuit 
of  society ;  and  even  then  the  result  comes  to  us  so 
disproportioned  and  disjointed  as  to  half-disgust  and 
weary  us.  If  we  are  so  fortunate  as  to  find  our 
Rosalie's  face,  we  must  set  it  upon  the  body  of  the 
hag  in  '  Gil  Bias,'  and  place  the  whole  upright  on 
Jeremiah's  foot.  Eh  !  bien !  It  seems  like  a  wild- 
goose  chase  to  hope  ever  to  realize  our  aims.  Why 
aim,  then  ? 

"  Furthermore,  it  always  seems  selfish  and  unfair 
to  make  use  of  a  man  for  a  particular  purpose,  and 
then  dismiss  him  in  favor  of  another,  who  happens 
to  meet  our  next  want.  I  recollect  a  lady,  whom  I 
asked  to  sing,  once  said  to  me,  *  You  don't  care  for 
me,  but  only  for  my  singing.'  Well,  she  insinuated 
a  truth.  I  then  thought  I  would  never  ask  a  lady 
to  please  me  by  her  musical  powers  again  ;  I  would 
seek  all  enjoyments  in  myself,  my  infinite  self,  and 
retire  there  for  all  sympathy.  Sometimes  a  lady's 
whole  being  is  her  singing.  But  this  lady  had 
another  self.  ' Care  for  me,'  she  said.  That  'Me,' 
— what  did  it  comprehend  ?  What  would  it  have  ? 

14 


158  LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

i 

This  illustrates  the  more  general  matter  of  sympa 
thy  in  its  various  conditions  and  exercise.  .  .  .  Yet 
we  cannot  well  live  without  it ;  and,  if  we  cannot 
find  it  in  wholes,  we  must  take  it  in  parts. 

' '  About  the  time  I  dropped  my  pen  at  the  bottom 
of  the  preceding  page,  the  dinner-bell  rang,  and  the 
'  keen  demands  of  appetite '  urged  me  to  another 
duty.  This  eating,  —  is  it  not  a  pleasant  thing  ? 
Your  gastronomer,  —  is  he  not  the  true  philoso 
pher  ?  This  three  times  a  day,  table-gathering  and 
beef-eating,  butter-spreading  and  tea-drinking,  and 
friendly  chat,  and  free  laugh,  makes  one  wonderfully 
content  with  life.  It  satisfies  a  most  important  and 
importunate  part  of  our  nature.  Why  not  centre 
all  life  in  that  ?  Why  trouble  one's  'self  about  the 
philosophers  ?  All  men  have  their  eating  suscepti 
bility  ;  and  you  will  not  find  it  necessary  to  go 

out  of to  get  company.     Did  you  ever  look 

into  a  swine-fold  ?  '  So  I  can  but  get  meal-mixture 
enough,'  says  the  hog-philosopher,  'and  mud-mix 
ture  for  a  siesta,  I  am  content.'  '  Amen  ! '  says  the 
hog-moralizer,  who  sees  no  end  but  the  butcher's 
knife  and  the  salt -barrel.  '  Amen  ! '  adds  the  hog- 
sentimentalist,  who  settles  his  fair  proportions  still 
deeper  in  the  heterogeneous  compound  that  forms  at 
once  his  bath  and  his  bed.  '  Amen  ! '  respond  all 
the  little  piglings,  who  scamper  at  their  feet's  end 
up  and  down  the  straw  and  the  mire.  e  Amen  ! ' 
shall  we  not  all  say  ?  This  is  the  genuine  gas- 
trosophy ;  and,  since  life  is  allowed  to  be  pretty 
essentially  connected  with  the  stomach,  we  must 
believe  that  the  true  eating  is  the  true  sophia.  Eh ! 


LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  159 

bien!  again.  Soups  and  puddings  make  us  qualm 
ish  and  fretful.  The  end  is  not  reached.  So  plates 
and  spoons  urge  us  to  our  immortality.  I  would 
soar,  but  I  am  clogged.  Shall  I  to  my  bed  and 
sleep  ?  " 

"  July  9.  —  I  recollect  what  you  said  about  part 
ing  with  Rosalie  in  a  crowd.  When  we  make  our 
adieus  to  those  we  love,  no  eyes  should  see  us  but 
silence  and  the  stars.  There  are  times  when  we 
shrink  from  any  thing  like  participation  of  feeling 
and  interest.  Such  are  our  parting  hours.  We  can't 
bear  the  stupid  and  half-sympathetic  gaze,  the  won 
ders  why,  the  curious  inquiries,  of  the  vulgar.  Be 
sides,  those  are  most  self-moments.  We  would  not 
be  distracted.  We  seek  an  absorbing  concentra 
tion. 

"  I  have  learned  now,  what  I  could  never  reconcile 
or  understand  before,  what  the  true  malignity  of  sin 
is.  It  is  not  that  I  was  born  with  a  denied  nature, 
but  that,  differently  constituted,  I  do  sin.  I  sin 
with  angels,  not  with  devils  ;  and  this  afflicts  me 
with  a  prostration  of  soul,  with  an  utter  self-humi 
liation  and  condemnation. 

"  Our  earliest  impressions  of  the  stars  make  them 
the  abiding-place,  and,  as  one  may  say,  the  observa 
tory,  of  the  Divinity ;  nor  does  a  corrected  philosophy 
of  our  maturer  years  wholly  dissipate  this  illusion.  .  .  . 

"  My  ideal  of  the  religious  mind,  and  the  model 
according  to  which  I  would  shape  my  affections,  is 
not  so  much  Jeremiah  as  it  is  John.  I  seek  rather 
the  loving  than  the  weeping  mood.  Standard  writers 
and  types  for  me  are  such  men  as  Fenelon,  Cud- 


160  LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

worth,  Law,  Thomas  Smith,  Bishop  Hall,  Howe, 
and  others  of  a  similar  taste. 

"Five  years  ago,  under  the  elm-trees  and  deep 
midnight  of  New  Haven,  I  struggled  and  ques 
tioned,  and  doubts  beat  upon  me  like  a  storm  of  fire. 
All  men  seemed  to  leave  me  then.  .  .  . 

"  But  how  shall  I  put  this  into  readable  and  hold- 
togetherable  shape  ?  I  can  think  of  no  other  way 
but  to  run  a  thread  through  the  backs  of  the  sheets, 
and  so  tie  them  fast.  What,  too,  if  they  should  get 
displaced  in  your  hands  ?  I  am  such  a  consistent 
piece  of  mechanism  myself,  that  the  least  mismanage 
ment  of  that  sort  would  utterly  confound  you.  So 
I  go  to  work.  The  student  has  turned  seamster, 
or,  rather,  I  am  the  man  seamstering.  But  you 
would  have  chuckled.  What  a  bother  !  The  first 
point  is  to  thread  one's  needle.  I  am  not  altogether 
inexperienced,  yet  is  it  a  perpetual  vexation.  How 
ever,  I  succeeded  after  a  due  trial.  Then  I  clapped 
my  thimble,  —  a  good  one  it  is,  my  mother  gave  it 
to  me,  —  on  the  proper  digital.  Then,  by  a  due 
force,  I  pushed  the  resolute  needle  through  the 
quire  of  paper,  have  tied  the  ends  of  the  thread 
together,  and  so  am  a  consistent  man.  Consistency, 
thou  art  a  jewel. 

"  Oh  for  a  wife,  —  a  great-souled,  worth-appre 
ciating  wife,  —  to  put  on  my  buttons,  and  stitch  my 
manuscripts  !  Shall  I  never  find  such  a  one  ?  " 

On  a  vacation  at  Northampton,  Mr.  Judd  thus 
notes,  in  his  Journal,  an  account  of  retracing  his  old 
Hadley  walk  :  — 


LIFE    AT   THE   DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  161 

"July  29,  1839. 

"  Up  Bridge-street  were  the  old  familiar  houses, 
sidewalks,  roads,  fences,  gateways.  That  old,  wea 
ther-worn  barn  looked  towards  me,  and  would  receive 
one  look  of  recognizance.  The  boys,  —  not  my  own 
boyhood's  boys,  they  are  scattered,  and  for  ever,  — 
new  youngsters,  coming  out  upon  the  same  grass, 
to  play  and  hope  and  die,  like  their  predecessors. 
Onward  I  went,  through  the  narrow  foot-path,  in 
the  wide  street.  The  great  elms  are  its  guardians 
still.  The  old  gate-keeper  still  draws  up  the  tink 
ling  gate.  The  bridge,  —  I  looked  through  its 
windows  northward.  The  river  issues  from  green 
hills,  wood-land.  On  it  flows,  and  Nature  retinues 
it  with  a  thousand  shadowy  trees,  and  meadow- 
banks.  It  opens  in  the  embrace  of  a  green,  shrubby 
island,  imparts  a  lingering  kiss,  and  flows  on  for 
ever.  I  would  plunge  into  its  stream,  and  be  borne 
onward  too. 

"  Then  the  expanded  meadows,  the  corn  and  grass, 
the  same  dusty  road,  the  same  tree  too,  under  which, 
a  weary,  satchelled  school-boy,  I  had  rested.  I 
turned  now,  and  most  mechanically  leaned  against 
its  trunk,  for  the  sake  of  auld  lang  syne. 

"  Returning,  the  moon  was  out.  Southerly  it 
lighted  and  hid  the  heavens.  There  were  clouds, 
and  Lyra  and  Cassiopceia,  and,  in  the  dim  horizon, 
the  Bear  and  thin  clouds.  Misty  the  •  air.  Mount 
Holyoke  shone  purely,  like  a  bank  of  milk-white 
mist.  Angels  might  have  wrought  their  drapery 
from  it.  And  the  moon  shone  upon  the  Connecticut, 
as  I  looked  through  the  bridge  southerly  upon  it. 

14* 


162  LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

The  water  was  trembling  in  light.  The  dark,  shaded 
banks  enclosed  it  like  a  gem.  From  the  high 
heavens  I  fancied  it  looked  earth's  night-jewelry. 
"Walked  the  thoughtful  quickly  on.  The  burying- 
ground,  —  its  white  monuments  stood  up  like  the 
sheeted  dead,  new-risen  from  their  graves  ;  and  its 
black  monuments,  like  the  wasted  skeletons  of  a 
hundred  years.  As  he  hurried  by,  these  dead  seemed 
to  move.  They  joined  in  dance  over  the  hillocks,  in 
the  dim  moonlight,  the  black  and  the  white,  under 
funereal  pines  and  elms,  with  tall,  gaunt  weeds  that 
grew  there.  They  danced  noiselessly,  as  the  dead 
must  dance.  They  danced  to  no  music ;  for  they 
needed  none,  save  the  silent  wind.  He  quickened 
his  pace,  and  this  dance  of  the  .dead  grew  more 
hurried  and  more  involved.  When  he  was  well 
past,  and  looked  back,  the  dance  was  stopped,  and 
the  moveless  stones  stretched  their  grizzly  necks  to 
gaze  at  the  passer.  He  was  soon  hid  by  a  turn  in 
the  street,  not  frightened ;  for  he  felt  that  such 
communion  was  most  fitting  to  his  spirit." 


THIRD    YEAR    AT    HARVARD. 

To  HIS  MOTHER. 

"  DIVINITY  SCHOOL,  Sept.  12,  1839. 

"  This  term  we  begin  to  write  sermons,  and  next 
term  shall  preach,  not  abroad,  but  in  the  College 
Church.  The  duties  of  my  profession,  —  responsi 
ble,  arduous,  solemn,  —  begin  to  come  upon  me,  no 
longer  as  a  prospective  imagining,  but  as  a  home- 


LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  163 

pressing   reality.     May    I   have    strength,   courage, 
faith,  holiness,  for  the  great  work  !  " 

TV, 

JL\J  » 

"  DmniTT  SCHOOL,  Sept.  19,  1839. 

"  I  feel,  every  day  of  my  life,  I  need  encouraging. 
I  stumble  at  a  straw.  I  sink  with  a  feather's  weight 
upon  me.  How  is  it  that  on  some  points  I  am  all 
self-trust,  and  on  others  all  outward  repose  ?  How 
do  the  giant  and  the  child  blend  so  together  in  our 
little  framework  ?  Why  should  not  the  giant  sus 
tain  the  child  ? 

"  I  am,  if  your  doctrine  be  true,  an  angel  fallen 
from  the  bright  haven  of  his  earlier  home,  who  now, 
with  a  palpitating  heart  and  broken  wing,  is  drag 
ging  himself  wearily  through  morass  and  mist,  in 
search  of  what  he  has  lost. 

"I  have  made  some  most  astonishing  resolutions 
for  this  term,  —  that  I  will  not  sigh  or  complain 
once.  Why  should  I  not  be  a  man,  and  have  done 
with  effeminacy  and  nonsense  ?  " 

"  Oct.  28.  —  Have  you  considered  the  value  of 
autobiographical  writing,  in  general?  There  is  a 
positive  pleasure  attending  that  species  of  com 
position,  because  the  subject  is  at  once  interesting 
and  familiar.  It  is  a  revelation  of  the  life,  while 
much  else  that  we  write  is  a  speculation,  or  a  doubt, 
or  a  social  necessity ;  it  improves  the  habit  of  self- 
observation  ;  it  subserves  the  memory ;  it  is  a  con 
venient  index  to  the  events  of  our  life ;  it  is  a 
source  of  pleasure  to  our  friends,  or  to  the  one 
friend  whom  we  might  favor  with  the  perusal  of  it. 


164  LIFE    AT    THE   DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

But  the  capital  advantage,  as  I  conceive,  lies  in  this, 
—  the  aid  it  affords  in  the  solution  of  the  problem 
of  man,  —  of  what  I  am,  of  what  you  are.  All  the 
data  are  before  you,  and  a  skilful  combination  of 
the  figures  will  enable  you  to  approximate  the  re 
sult.  Influences  are  traced  up  to  their  source,  and 
onward  to  their  issues.  Doubts  that  have  once  per 
plexed  us  find,  in  the  present  retrospection,  an  easy 
resolution,  and  are  carried  upward  to  the  vast  Un 
known  before  us,  and  aid  us  to  calculate  its  uncer 
tainties,  and  throw  some  light  into  its  mysterious 
depths.  You  learn  what  you  are  destined  for,  by 
perceiving  what  you  have  lived  for.  In  observing 
what  you  might  have  been,  you  decide  what  you 
can  be.  This  retrospection  will  correct  a  thousand 
mistakes  into  which  the  enthusiasm,  the  vanity,  or 
the  ignorance  of  youth  may  have  involved  you ;  and 
you  will  find  your  present  position  the  more  secure, 
just  in  proportion  to  this  subtraction  of  errors.  A 
multitude  of  questions  in  the  philosophy  of  mind 
and  of  opinion  will  receive  some  light  from  such  an 
investigation.  It  will  conduct  you  to  a  more  defi 
nite  understanding  of  the  place  you  hold  in  society, 
in  the  world,  in  the  universe.  By  what  limits  are 
we  connected  to  the  Infinite  ?  How  does  a  general 
or  a  special  Providence  actually  touch  the  soul,  and 
circumscribe  human  actions  ?  To  these  questions 
it  will  render  some  satisfaction.  But  I  need  not 
enlarge.  The  great  questions,  '  What  am  I,  and 
why  am  I  ? '  would  become  somewhat  disentangled 
by  a  careful  review  of  one's  life.  And  is  not  this 
compensation  enough  for  such  a  labor  ? " 


LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  165 

FROM  HIS  JOURNAL. 

"  Nov.  1,  half-past  ten,  evening.  —  Our  prayer- 
meeting  continued  to  this  moment.  Conversation 
took  a  deep,  searching,  and  exceedingly  interesting 
character.  Our  prayers  were  most  earnest.  Our 
souls  seemed  very  near  heaven.  We  melted  into 
love  and  holiness.  God  was  most  especially  pre 
sent.  Our  hearts  were  softened,  cheered,  —  all  ho 
liest  purposes  quickened.  To  God,  my  God,  my 
Father,  commend  I  my  soul  this  night.  Holiest 
One,  I  am  thine,  for  ever  thine." 


To 


"  Nov.  15.  —  I  have  just  come  from,  our  prayer- 
meeting.  A  good  time  it  was.  We  pray  as  the 
spirit  moveth,  and  each  brother  breathes  out  the  deep 
things  of  his  heart.  God  seems  especially  nigh  to 
us  at  these  moments.  The  Holy  Spirit  visits  us 
with  his  especial  influences.  Were  you  ever  one 
of  a  social  praying  circle  ?  How  precious  they  are  !  " 

"  Nov.  25.  —  It  rains  this  morning,  rains  fitfully, 
windily,  darkly.  My  spirits  droop  like  the  wing  of 
a  bird.  To  be  alone,  shut  up  in  my  chamber,  is 
oppressive.  And  yet  not  always  so.  Sometimes 
I  like  to  be  alone  when  darkness  and  storms  per 
vade  the  world  without.  But  this  morning  I  seem 
predisposed  to  an  indefinable  dejection.  The  influ 
ences  of  last  evening  hang  heavily  upon  me.  Last 
evening  was  one  of  deep  and  thoughtful  interest. 
The  ordination-services  affected  me  more  than  I  can 
describe.  What  I  must  soon  encounter,  with  its 
responsible  duties  and  its  momentous  issues,  was 


166  LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

impressed  with  a  painful  vividness.  *  Who  is  suffi 
cient  for  these  things  ? '  O  my  God !  be  thou  my 
help,  my  supporter." 

«  J)ec.  —  The  low  murmurings  of  the  soul  are  all 
that  is  heard.  We  listen,  but  perceive  no  voice,  only 
an  indistinct  moaning.  From  the  depths  sound  up 
evermore  that  inarticulate  wail.  Is  it  the  smothered 
pantings  of  the  soul  ?  Is  it  the  lament  of  some  other 
spirit  incarnated  and  incarcerated  in  our  own  ?  Is 
it  a  cry  heard  only  in  heaven,  and  one  which  will  at 
last  find  its  fulfilment  there?  O  Earth,  Earth! 
wherefore  are  we  cast  upon  thy  dark  borders  ?  Where 
fore  is  the  longing  soul  tantalized  by  thy  shows! 
Wherefore  thy  racks  and  troubles  ?  Yet  I  love  thee, 
Earth.  From  thy  womb  sprang  I  into  light.  On 
thy  bosom  have  I  been  nurtured.  Thy  flowers  are 
beautiful.  Thy  heavens  are  glorious.  By  thy  pro 
bation  am  I  purified  for  my  coming  destiny.  Through 
thee,  as  a  vestibule,  I  pass  into  brighter  worlds. 
Hush,  then,  this  tumult  of  the  heart !  Let  me  pa 
tiently  bear  and  suffer,  and  wait,  that  I  may  at  last 
triumph  and  enjoy.  Let  me  be  a  child,  and  submit 
to  that  chastening  which  for  the  present  seemeth  not 
grievous,  but  which  will  terminate  in  exceeding 

j°y- 

"  All  things  sadden  me.     Mr. coming  in,  and 

talking  about  '  these  views,'  makes  me  sad.  Philo 
sophy,  theology,  poetry,  make  me  sad.  Coleridge, 
and  Bipley,  and  Norton  make  me  sad.  My  Father's 
presence  with  me  now  makes  me  sad.  The  snow, 
my  rose-plant,  the  cold  moon,  produce  the  same 
effect.  The  past,  the  present,  and  the  future,  life 


LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  167 

and  no  life,  what  I  am  and  what  I  have  been,  the 
letters  of  my  friends,  pain  in  my  head  and  in  my 
heart,  —  all,  all  deepen  that  one  feeling.  Now  do 
not  attempt  to  thread  these  things  all  on  one  string. 
You  cannot  do  it.  You  cannot  detect  a  common 
point  of  harmony.  Possibly  none  such  exists.  Such 
a  mood  likes  sometimes  to  utter  itself  without  point 
and  without  coherence.  It  has  its  own  idiom,  and 
adopts  its  own  language."  .  .  . 

To  HIS  BROTHER  J.*W. 

"NORTHAMPTON,  Jan.  15,  1840. 

"  Those  who  suffer  from  the  conduct  of  other  men 
should  guard  themselves  against  indulging  an  undue 
severity  of  judgment  respecting  such  as  have  injured 
them.  A  case  of  this  sort  affords  the  finest  oppor 
tunity  for  the  exercise  and  for  the  cultivation  of  that 
first  of  Christian  virtues,  —  charity.  I  think  we  are 
too  apt  to  wrong  those  who  have  done  us  an  injury. 
The  wasting,  bewildering,  chilling  effect  of  mercan 
tile  reverses,  is  to  my  mind  a  greater  evil  than  the 
mere  loss  of  property.  The  latter  may  be  remedied. 
The  former  is  too  apt  to  penetrate  the  character,  and 
constitute  a  permanent  feature  of  the  life.  It  be 
comes  us  to  consider  that  there  is  a  higher  than 
property,  and  that  the  peace  and  repose  of  the  soul 
are  infinitely  better  than  the  rescue  of  debts,  or  even 
than  the  flush  of  business. 

"  Your  boy  is  doing  admirably.  He  and  his  uncle 
go  out  to  slide  every  morning.  It  would  please  you 
to  see  him  fagging  up  the  hill,  with  a  red  face, 
panting  breath,  his  feet  pressing  with  a  short,  quick, 


168  LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

divergent  step,  into  the  snowy  path ;  his  arms  swing 
ing  up  and  down  like  a  young  bird  on  the  ice.  He 
is  on  the  sled ;  and  hurrah !  down  he  goes  !  His  sled 
shies  off  into  a  snowbank,  and  over  he  goes.  Up 
he  jumps,  spitting  out  the  snow  from  his  mouth, 
pushing  up  his  cap  which  has  fallen  over  his  eyes, 
with  — '  Well  now  that's  too  bad,  I  declare,  uncle 
Ves.'  He  drags  the  sled  up  the  hill  again,  and  pre 
pares  for  another  overturn." 

To  A.  H. 

"NORTHAMPTON,  Jan.  17,  1840. 

"  A.  complains  that  you  are  too  philosophical,  that 
is,  I  suppose  cool,  unimpassioned,  cautious.  This,  I 
agree,  is  well.  We  come  to  it  at  last,  whether  we 
will  or  no,  find,  after  all,  plants  and  pebbles  are  about 
as  good  as  any  thing  else.  What  signifies  a  perpetual 
stretch  of  the  mind?  Let  us  come  back  into  our 
own  little  world,  and  amuse  ourselves  with  such  toys 
as  we  can  find  there.  It  is  curious  to  see  one  and 
another  reaching  the  point  of  bursting,  and  longing 
to  pour  over  somebody.  If  this  disposition  can  be 
gratified,  well.  If  not,  do  not  let  us  consume  with 
regret.  Our  resources,  which  in  youth  we  deem 
ample  enough  for  the  whole  world,  are  apt  enough 
to  get  squandered ;  and,  when  it  is  too  late,  we  mourn 
over  the  desertion  and  emptiness  of  our  hearts.  Yet 
experience  avails  little  for  the  newcomer  on  the 
stage,  and  the  same  round  will  be  run  over  and  over 
again.  The  repose  of  religion  is  the  only  secure  rest 
for  the  soul. 

"  I  am  now  upon  my  last  vacation.     The  ensuing 


LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  169 

term  will  soon  be  gone,  and  then  —  may  God  be  my 
helper  and  guide." 

To  HIS  BKOTHEE  C.  P. 

"  DIVINITY  SCHOOL,  CAMBRIDGE,  March  5,  1840. 

"  I  am  not  insensible  to  what  you  say  about  the 
unsatisfactoriness  of  metaphysical  studies.  In  all 
the  horrors  of  their  perplexities,  my  own  mind  has 
been  involved.  Perhaps  you  will  think  my  own 
feelings  are  somewhat  sectarian.  But  I  am  persuaded 
that  any  system  of  theology  which  is  sustained  mere 
ly  on  metaphysical  grounds  must  ever  prove  unsa 
tisfactory.  And  I  am  also  convinced,  from  thorough 
experience  and  a  most  faithful  observation,  that  the 
popular  orthodox  doctrines  are  sustained  in  that  way  ; 
and  I  have  found  my  only  relief  in  the  simple  views 
of  Unitarianism. 

"I  would  not  have  you  abandon  your  idea  of 
preaching.  Time  will  settle  all  your  difficulties. 
There  is  truth  enough  somewhere  in  the  world ;  and, 
by  waiting,  you  will  find  it.  For  my  own  part,  the 
other  professions  have  not  the  least  relish  for  me, 
unless,  indeed,  it  may  be  teaching.  The  religion  of 
the  New  Testament,  simple,  unsystematized,  un- 
glossed,  will  afford  ample  scope  for  your  talents  and 
your  piety." 

To   HIS   MOTHEB. 

"DITINITY  SCHOOL,  CAMBRIDGE,  March  8,  1840. 

"  My  dear  Mother,  —  I  write  you  once  more  from 
a  room,  to  which,  on  account  of  its  quiet  and  conve 
nience,  I  am  very  much  attached ;  and  from  scenes 

15 


170  LIFE    AT    THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

to  which.  I  am  always  happy  to  return.  Some  de 
gree  of  thoughtfulness  attends  the  reflection  that 
my  last  vacation  is  over.  These  seasons  of  interval 
from  study  have  always  been  anticipated  with  de 
light  ;  and  the  time  spent  with  my  family  and 
friends  has  never  failed  to  afford  an  abundance  of 
profitable  enjoyment.  My  subsequent  life  must  be 
one  of  uninterrupted  devotion  to  the  duties  of  my 
profession.  Yet  I  cannot  doubt,  that,  if  these  du 
ties  are  entered  upon  with  proper  motives,  and  a 
just  reliance  on  Him  from  whom  comes  all  our 
strength,  they  will  ever  be  attended  with  that  de 
gree  of  satisfaction  and  pleasure,  which,  aside  from 
any  higher  consideration,  shall  be  a  full  compensa 
tion  for  their  fatigue." 

To  HIS  BROTHER  C.  P. 

"DIVINITY  SCHOOL,  CAMBRIDGE,  May  16,  1840. 

"  Dear  Brother  C.  P.,  —  Your  letters  of  March 
21  and  May  2  are  before  me.  So  many  letters  at 
once  seem  like  a  sort  of  ( run  upon  the  bank  ; ' 
but  I  believe  I  can  meet  my  dues,  though  I  cannot 
always  pay  gold  and  silver.  I  can  let  you  have 
more  paper,  which  perhaps,  in  this  case,  will  do  as 
Well.  I  am  glad  you  are  in  so  good  a  mood  ;  and, 
as  laughing  is  healthful,  I  shall  not  suffer  much  from 
disease  while  I  can  have  letters  from  you.  'Tis  well 
to  have  the  dulness  and  torpidity  of  study  broken 
up  once  in  a  while.  I  wish  I  was  at  home  to  be 
merry  with  you.  How  comes  on  the  fishing  ?  Did 
you  have  any  glorious  nibbles  ?  By  the  way,  I  shall 
not  soon  forget  how  you  looked  on  your  back,  fling- 


LIFE    AT    THE   DIVINITY    SCHOOL.  171 

ing  up  heels  and  hands,  convulsed  with  laughter, 
when  I  fell  into  the  water." 

To  HIS  BKOTHEB  H L. 

"  DIVINITY  SCHOOL,  CAMBRIDGE,  May  17,  1840. 

"  It  is  only  for  those  we  love  that  we  feel  justified 
in  growing  uneasy.  Apparent  coldness,  attended 
with  a  real  interest,  in  our  friends,  seems  to  be  some 
times  necessary ;  yet  it  is  one  of  the  most  disagree 
able  states  into  which  we  can  be  thrown ;  and,  if 
excused  by  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  it  is  per 
haps  to  be  regarded  as  a  sort  of  martyrdom  to  princi 
ple,  and  not  to  be  set  down  as  a  result  of  caprice  or 
selfishness.  However,  when  it  can  be  avoided,  it 
should  be.  There  are  real  cold  shadows  enough 
to  fall  upon  the  pathway  of  life,  without  throwing  a 
screen  before  the  little  fire  that  does  burn.  In  all 
these  things,  however,  I  have  been  as  great  a  sinner 
as  any  one ;  and,  while  I  suggest  a  proper  course 
for  another,  I  would  endeavor  to  reform  myself." 

On  finishing  his  theological  studies,  he  thus  writes 
in  his  Journal :  — 

"  Cambridge,  July  17,  1840.  —  My  studies  are 
over,  my  profession  acquired,  my  work  before  me. 
My  bodily  health  at  least  is  good,  my  energy  vigor 
ous.  My  heart,  O  my  heart !  is  it  fully  sanctified  yet  ? 
Am  I  humble  ?  Life  —  am  I  prepared  for  it,  and 
itsl  Heaven  —  am  I  thither  tending,  and  thither 
taking  men's  souls  ?  Nine  years  ago,  the  first  of 
June,  found  me  commencing  my  studies  at  Hadley 
Academy.  Three  years  —  how  quickly  passed  ! 


172  LIFE    AT   THE    DIVINITY    SCHOOL. 

The  choicest,  best  part  of  my  life,  how  gone !  What 
have  they  carried  me  through?  No  matter  now. 
I  am  a  better  and  a  calmer  man.  I  have  few  agita 
tions,  know  few  griefs.  Could  name  one  or  two 
things,  but  they  are  trifles.  I  enter  the  theatre  of 
the  world  to  act  my  part.  What  shall  I  accom 
plish  ?  With  what  object  link  myself,  to  what  idea 
give  an  impulse  ?  Christ,  I  am  thine,  wholly  thine. 
Sanctify  me  to  thyself;  make  me  wise  for  thy  sake ; 
make  me  energetic, for  thy  sake ;  make  me  influen 
tial  for  thy  sake. 

"  A  Unitarian  —  never  more  one  ;  never  more 
opposed  to  what  is  opposed  to  it.  Another  name  for 
Christianity.  Shall  it  not  be  carried  forward  in  the 
world  to  a  universal  triumph  ?  Yet  am  I  no  secta 
rian,  no  party  man.  Care  little  for  names,  &c.  &c. 

"  Give  me  thy  blessing,  O  my  Father  in  heaven ! 
as  I  enter  upon  the  work  of  my  life.  How  can  I  be 
strong  without  thee  ?  How  can  I  but  utterly  fail 
without  thee  ?  Make  thy  good  Spirit  my  everlasting 
guide." 


173 


CHAPTER  VI. 


SETTLEMENT  AND  RESIDENCE  AT  AUGUSTA. 


SETTLEMENT. 

ON  the  6th  of  July,  1840,  a  few  weeks  before  closing 
his  course  at  the  Divinity  School,  Mr.  Judd  made 
an  engagement  to  supply  the  pulpit  of  the  Unitarian 
Church  in  Augusta,  Maine,  for  a  period  of  six 
weeks.  To  meet  this  engagement,  on  the  evening 
of  July  24,  he  took  passage  from  Boston.  In  his 
Journal  he  writes,  "  Out  of  the  harbor  we  passed 
through  a  multitude  of  islands,  and  plunged  into 
the  eternal  sea  and  its  eternal  swell."  The  next 
morning,  "  made  the  mouth  of  the  Kennebec,  under 
a  bright  sky,"  among  "  a  parcel  of  rocky,  barren 
islands,  and  woody  shores  near  at  hand ;  the  waters 
dashing  and  breaking,  and  scattering  their  spray 
wild  and  beautiful."  The  sail  up  these  new  waters 
he  found  "  charming." 

His  first  sermon  in  Augusta  was  preached  on  the 
morning  of  the  £6th  of  July.  In  the  evening,  he 
walked  out  upon  the  hill  back  of  his  boarding-house, 
west  of  the  town,  where  his  attention  was  attracted 
to  the  "east  bank  of  the  river,  a  broad,  green  slope," 
he  says,  "swelling  into  the  horizon,  divided  into 
green  plots,  sprinkled  with  neat  white  houses,  and, 

15* 


174  SETTLEMENT    AT    AUGUSTA. 

withal,  some  public  buildings,  constituting  a  very 
pleasant  picture." 

True  to  his  filial  duty  and  affection,  the  first  letter 
known  to  be  written  from  this  place  was  addressed  — 

To    HIS   MOTHEE. 

"  AUGUSTA,  Ms.,  July  27,  1840. 

"  My  dear  Mother,  —  A  new  date  commences  a 
new  life.  It  is  now  Monday  morning,  the  morning 
after  I  have  taken  the  first  step  in  that  new  life. 
Here  I  am,  away  in  a  novel  part  •  of  the  world,  sur 
rounded  by  strange  faces.  I  have  rooms  assigned 
me  at  one  of  the  hotels,  —  a  quiet  and  retired  place, 
fine  room,  amply  furnished  within,  and  ample  in  its 
view  without. 

"  Yesterday  I  discharged  the  regular  pulpit  duties. 
How  I  succeeded,  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  inquire. 
If  any  good  is  done,  I  shall  be  glad.  I  can  say  but 
,  little  about  the  people  yet.  Those  whom  I  have 
seen  are  very  intelligent  and  serious  men.  They 
begin  to  urge  my  staying  with  them." 

Under  the  same  date,  he  writes  his  brother  H i : 

"  Yesterday,  for  the  first  time,  I  entered  upon  the 
regular  discharge  of  the  duties  of  my  profession, 
saving  half  a  day  that  I  preached  last  Sunday  in 
Boston.  What  strength  of  character,  what  purity  of 
heart,  what  love  for  souls,  what  faith  in  God,  is  re 
quisite  for  him  who  undertakes  to  become  a  preacher 
of  the  gospel !  May  I  be  thoroughly  furnished  as 
a  good  soldier  of  the  cross.  I  enter  upon  my  public 
duties  with  very  considerable  resolution  and  hope." 


SETTLEMENT    AT    AUGUSTA.  175 

Mr.  Judd's  health,  which  was  so  much  impaired 
when  he  went  to  Cambridge,  was  now  as  fully  con 
firmed  as  it  could  be  while  yet  a  weakened  nervous 
system  held  it  at  its  mercy.  On  finishing  his  studies 
at  the  Divinity  School,  and  entering  upon  his  pro 
fessional  duties,  he  strove  manfully  to  leave  the  trials 
of  his  lot  behind,  to  "let  the  dead  past  bury  its 
dead,"  and  to  labor  and  feel  only  in  the  "  living 
present ;  "  but,  do  the  best  he  could,  the  dark  clouds 
of  the  past  would  at  times  project  themselves  over 
the  sunlight  of  his'  present,  and  shade  with  melan 
choly  his  otherwise  happy  prospects. 

During  this  first  week  of  his  stay  in  Augusta,  he 
received  the  most  courteous  attentions  by  way  of 
calls,  hospitable  entertainments,  rides,  walks,  and 
the  like  ;  but,  nevertheless,  something  of  this  sombre 
spirit  would  come  upon  him.  He  thus  writes  in  his 
Journal :  — 

"  July  30.  —  Augusta,  as  I  may  have  told  fifty 
people,  is  a  very  pretty  place.  But  I  am  somehow 
un-homed  here.  The  books  on  my  table  look  un 
easy.  Webster's  Dictionary,  my  Bible,  the  inkstand 
and  wafer-box,  seem  to  be  strangers,  and  are  looking 
up  to  me  for  sympathy.  Well,  ye  shall  have  it.  ... 
I  went  to  the  post-office.  The  clerk  shook  his  head 
as  I  entered ;  but  I  felt  as  if  I  could  castigate  some 
body." 

Again:  "Aug.  1.  —  I  stood  out  upon  the  piazza 
that  shelves  out  from  my  room,  paced  it  up  and 
down,  and  my  mind  set  to  revolving  some  old,  for 
bidden  thoughts  of  faith  and  virtue  and  spirituality, 
and  some  others  not  perhaps  wholly  spiritual.  Then 


176  SETTLEMENT    AT    AUGUSTA. 

came  out  Mrs. and  some  little  girls,  and  I  was 

back  again  to  the  world,  talked  of  my  getting  wet 
this  afternoon,  of  my  nearly  getting  immersed  yes 
terday  afternoon,  &c.,  &c.  This  diverts  me,  but 
does  not  relieve  me." 

After  hearing  but  four  sermons  from  Mr.  Judd, 
two  members  of  the  parish  committee  called  upon 
him  to  ascertain  whether  he  would  consent  to  stand 
as  a  candidate.  He  had  had  some  thought  of  passing 
the  coming  winter  at  Mobile,  Alabama ;  and,  more 
over,  he  could  not  easily  reconcile  himself  to  the 
idea  of  what  then  seemed  to  him  being  so  far  off 
from  his  past  circle  of  acquaintance  and  associations. 
His  mind  was  a  good  deal  excited  about  the  matter. 
He  asks,  "What  is  duty,  what  is  duty?"  The 
next  morning,  he  says,  "  I  went  out  of  the  village 
upon  the  highlands  north,  up,  up,  over  granite 
ledges,  through  the  woods.  "Was  so  happy !  Could 
have  died.  We  are  always  ready  to  die  when  we 
are  happy." 

He  speaks  of  attending  a  small,  pleasant  party 

at  Mr.  's,  August  7,  and  humorously  says  : 

"Discussed  for  the  forty-eleventh  time  the  beauties 
of  Augusta.  Strong  coffee  saved  me  the  trouble  of 
going  to  sleep,  and  set  me  into  a  horrible  fantasy." 

During  the  time  of  his  engagement  at  Augusta, 
he  visited  Deerfield,  Mass.,  and  sought  to  get  a 
release  from  an  engagement  he  had  made  to  preach 
there  the  next  September,  but  did  not  succeed. 

Under  date  August  24,  at  Augusta,  he  writes, 
"  Feel  about  as  blue  to-day  as  I  know  well  how  to 
get  along  with.  Some  new  things,  some  old  things 


SETTLEMENT    AT    AUGUSTA.  177 

reviving,  or  sending  up  their  ghosts.  The  society 
had  a  test-meeting  last  night ;  agree  to  like  me,  if 
they  can  raise  money  enough." 

"  Aug.  86.  —  Received  the  formal  vote  of  the 
society  to  become  their  pastor,  which  I  shall  say 
*  yes  '  to  for  a  year.  May  God  help  !  I  am  weak. 
I  am  cowardly.  Nerve  me  for  this  difficult  work. 
How  can  I  glorify  thee  ?  How  can  I  save  souls  ?  " 

On  the  31st  of  August,  he  left  Augusta  to  fulfil 
the  claims  which  the  Unitarian  Church  in  Deerfield 
had  upon  him  for  four  sabbaths  in  September.  The 
impression  he  made  here  was  so  favorable,  that  the 
church  wished  very  much  to  retain  him  as  their 
pastor.  He  enjoyed  much  pleasant  social  inter 
course,  and  many  delightful  rural  rambles.  He 
visited  the  sick  and  afflicted ;  thus  making,  as  he 
said,  his  "  first  essays  at  the  clinical  practice."  He 
spent  many  days  at  Northampton,  and  made  one  of 
a  family  gathering,  of  which  he  was  always  so  glad 
to  be  a  member.  He  went  to  Westhampton,  and, 
with  his  cousin  G.  L.  and  a  brother,  visited  the 
grandfather's  old  mansion,  then  in  the  hands  of 
strangers,  his  father's  former  residence  there,  the  old 
store,  the  orchard,  the  large  black  walnut  planted 
by  his  father  when  he  was  a  little  boy,  and  feelingly 
marked  the  changes  in  all.  He  thus  comments  : 
"  Men's  faces  change,  their  hearts  not  much."  He 
was  glad  to  avail  himself  of  the  opportunity  of  seeing 
all  his  family  friends  in  the  vicinity.  He  felt  him 
self  very  much  drawn  to  Deerfield  by  the  many 
manifestations  of  kind  regard  on  the  part  of  the 
people,  as  well  as  by  its  proximity  to  the  circle  of 


178  SETTLEMENT    AT    AUGUSTA. 

his  home-friends.  Yet,  while  enjoying  so  much  in 
various  ways  during  these  four  weeks,  so  much  of 
old,  depressing  feelings  still  hung  about  him,  that 
he  represents  himself,  at  one  time,  as  feeling  "so 
much  between  an  exclamation  and  an  interrogation," 
that  he  hardly  knew  how  he  did  feel.  The  evening 
before  his  first  preaching  in  Deerfield,  he  writes,  — 

(( 7i  o'clock.  —  Heaven  prepare  me  to  do  good 
to-morrow  !  May  some  word  be  fitly  spoken  ! 

"  Heaven  bless  my  poor  heart ! 

"  Some  female  voices  in  the  room  below  are  sing 
ing  Greenville,  and  the  sound  calls  me  back  to  this 
world  and  man ;  a  fact  I  stop  to  record.  Sing  on, 
sing  on." 

"  9  o'clock.  —  I  hear  some  one  praying  in  the  room 
underneath  me.  It  comes  upon  me,  a  penetrating, 
gentle  influence,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  could  pray  too. 
.  .  .  No  ink  in  the  stand.  Bothers  me  to  get  enough 
to  write  with.  So  I  will  stop.  Have  enough  to 
say,  this  poor  self  of  mine  longs  for  vent. 

"  Sept.  15.  —  Made  some  calls.  This  parochial- 
izing  hard  rather  for  such  a  temper  as  mine.  This 
diffusing  of  such  a  solitary,  anchoritish  kind  of  fellow 
is  queer  business.  May  the  Lord  bless  me  therein ! 
It  is  an  effort,  but  how  much  more  agreeable  than  I 
could  anticipate  !  How,  in  imparting  happiness,  are 
our  own  souls  blessed !  .  .  .  But  I,  too,  need  some 
ministering.  Who  will  come  in  to  speak  to  me,  to 
pray  with  me,  to  love  me  ?  " 

He  writes  to  his  father,  Sept.  16 :  —  "I  have 
made  nearly  a  dozen  visits ;  not,  however,  to  the 
rich  and  the  great,  but  among  the  sick  and  afflicted. 


SETTLEMENT    AT    AUGUSTA.  179 

This  parochial  clinicism  is  new  business  to  me,  and 
that  for  which  I  feel  most  unfitted.  All  the  habits  of 
my  life,  all  the  tendencies  of  my  nature,  shrink  from 
such  duties.  The  sick-room,  the  bedside,  the  an 
guish  of  disease,  the  alarm  of  friends,  I  am  not  fitted 
to  encounter.  But  it  must  be  done.  May  I  have 
aid  from  on  high !  " 

On  the  30th  of  September,  he  is  again  at  Augusta, 
under  which  date  he  writes  :  "  My  friends  in  Deer- 
field  clung  to  me  to  the  last.  Their  interest  in  me, 
too,  too  kind.  I  cannot  forget  them.  Had  I  known 
their  feelings  at  an  earlier  period,  then  I  should  have 
been  happy  to  stay  with  them.  As  it  is,  my  engage 
ments,  both  in  heart  and  in  honor,  are  here." 

Thursday,  October  1,  Mr.  Judd  received  ordina- 
tian  as  pastor  of  the  church  and  society  known  as  the 
East  Parish  in  Augusta.  All  the  Maine  Unitarian 
clergymen  were  present ;  and,  in  the  evening,  the 
Maine  Convention  of  Unitarian  Ministers  was  held, 
and  a  sermon  preached  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hedge,  of 
Bangor. 

Of  these  services,  Mr.  Judd  says  :  ' '  All  the  feel 
ings  that  have  crowded  into  this  occasion,  I  could 
not  describe,  nor  shall  I  attempt  it.  A  most  ani 
mating  as  well  as  solemn  time.  New  vows  are  upon 
me,  a  new  life  before  me.  Who  is  sufficient  for 
these  things  ? " 

His  first  sermon,  after  becoming  a  pastor,  was 
preached  October  4,  from  the  text,  "  Woe  is  unto 
me,  if  I  preach  not  the  gospel."  The  next  day  he 
writes  to  his  mother  :  — 

"  I  have  received  ordination  for  the  gospel  minis- 


180  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

try,  and  am  in  the  midst  of  the  scenes  of  my  profes 
sional  labors.  Say  what  any  one  will  of  forms,  this 
induction  into  office,  according  to  the  usages  of  our 
church,  is  no  light  business,  to  the  candidate  at 
least,  I  assure  you.  Its  immediate  impressions,  its 
prospective  reflections,  are  of  the  gravest  character. 
Pray  for  me,  that  I  may  be  found  faithful." 

Immediately  after  settlement,  Mr.  Judd  set  about 
organizing  a  Sunday-school,  and  establishing  teach 
ers'  meetings ;  in  which  effort  he  was  heartily  seconded 
by  children,  parents,  and  teachers.  He  also,  the 
first  week  after  his  ordination,  began  to  employ  his 
afternoons  in  visiting  among  his  people.  They 
seemed  quite  aroused,  and,  as  he  writes,  "  strongly 
animated  for  every  good  word  and  work."  The 
ladies  presented  him  a  gown  and  white  cravats  for 
the  pulpit,  in  which,  from  that  time,  he  always  offi 
ciated  on  the  sabbath.  He  writes  of  this  to  his 
mother:  "You  would  hardly  know  me,  expanded 
by  so  many  folds  of  black  silk."  His  arrangements 
for  board  were  most  agreeable.  His  room  was  plea 
sant,  and  he  was  surrounded  with  every  thing  that 
could  minister  to  his  comfort  and  convenience. 

Thus,  was  he  happily  settled  with  the  prospect  in 
his  professional  life,  stretching  out  full  of  hope  and 
promise  for  the  future.  His  heart  was  in  the  great 
work  to  which  he  had  looked  forward  through  his 
long  course  of  preparation,  and  in  which  he  felt 
ready  to  labor,  body  and  soul,  so  long  as  he  should 
remain  a  tenant  of  earth.  Yet,  even  now,  "  stifled 
breathings  from  the  smothered  deep  of  the  dead 
would  move  from  their  long  sleep ; "  and,  in  the 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  181 

dejection  of  his  spirits,  he  often  felt  that  "the  grave 
would  be  sweet  unto  him."  Yet  these  feelings  he 
endeavored  to  keep  hushed  in  his  own  bosom ;  and 
probably  no  one  among  his  people  once  dreamed  of 
the  heavy  weight  of  past  sorrows  which  lay  entombed 
in  his  heart. 

About  this  time,  he  had  an  invitation  from  the 
church  in  Deerfield  to  settle  with  them,  when  the  year 
for  which  he  had  engaged  at  Augusta  should  have 
expired.  But  he  thought  it  would  be  injurious  to 
his  church  in  Augusta  to  announce  at  that  time  that 
he  would  leave  them  at  the  end  of  a  year,  and  there 
fore  declined  the  Deerfield  invitation. 

On  the  26th  of  November,  he  preached  his  first 
Thanksgiving  sermon.  With  associations  natural  to 
the  occasion,  he  writes  in  his  Journal,  that  he  wished 
he  was  at  home  with  his  dear  mother.  He  writes 
to  her,  Nov.  30 :  "I  thought  of  you  Thanks 
giving-day,  and  should  have  been  most  happy  to 
be  with  you.  I  had  to  make  Thanksgiving  for 
others  ;  that  is  to  say,  I  preached  a  sermon,  and 
tried  to  direct  the  hearts  of  my  people  in  the  proper 
way  for  such  an  occasion.  I  have  a  great  deal  of 
visiting  to  do.  I  have  made  between  one  hundred 
and  fifty  and  two  hundred  calls.  And  this  is  hard 
work  among  a  strange  people.  My  duties  are  ar 
duous,  but  not  painful.  I  wish  some  of  my  good 
family  friends  were  here,  or  at  least  within  speaking 
distance.  •!  shall  not  see  you  before  summer.  May 
God  bless  you,  and  keep  you  and  all  of  us  till  then 
and  for  ever !  .  .  .  "Your  loving  Son." 

Mr.  Judd  thus  writes  — 
16 


182  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

To  A.  H. 

"  AUGUSTA,  Dec.  14,  1840. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  me  ?  Well,  chide  me, 
do  an  if  you  will.  But  I  cannot  write  you.  I  am 
mere  matter  of  fact ;  and,  as  such,  I  might  as  well 
roll  a  mountain  up  hill  as  to  write  you.  Can  you 
understand  this  ?  Will  you,  then,  excuse  me  ?  I 
have  always  been  accustomed  to  write  you  in  a  differ 
ent  strain ;  and  now,  to  commence  on  this,  'tis  impos 
sible.  Might  as  well  keep  up  a  correspondence  with 
an  enemy  as  with  a  friend,  when  our  feelings 
change.  Not  changed  towards  you,  but  towards 
the  world ;  towards  much  that  once  interested  me. 
When  I  came  to  Augusta,  it  was  in  a  belligerent 
attitude.  I  was  determined  to  make  war  upon  my 
self.  How  I  have  succeeded,  —  but  no  more  of 
that.  Some  occasional  tamperings  with,  and  yield- 
ings  to,  the  enemy  perhaps.  But,  on  the  whole,  I 
have  held  my  way  pretty  well.  My  common,  every 
day  life,  what  do  you  care  to  know  about  it  ?  'Tis 
pleasant,  active,  various,  and  useful,  I  hope."  .  .  . 

During  this  initiatory  period  of  strangership,  Mr. 
Judd's  thoughts,  as  was  very  natural,  often  turned 
to  his  home-friends.     He  again  writes  — 
/ 

To  HIS  MOTHER. 
i 

"AUGUSTA,  Dec.  28,  1840. 

"  My  dear  Mother,  —  I  was  delighted  and  sur 
prised  to  get  your  last  letter.  It  was  so  long  and  so 
kind.  It  seemed  like  a  renewal  of  your  youth.  I 
should  have  rejoiced  to  be  at  home  with  you  Thanks 
giving-day  ;  and  if  it  were  not  for  being  obliged  to 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  183 

make  Thanksgiving  for  others,  in  the  way  of  preach 
ing  sermons,  I  should  hope  I  might  enjoy  many  more 
of  those  seasons  with  you.  As  it  is,  I  hardly  know 
when  I  shall  be  at  home  Thanksgiving-day  again. 

"  This  morning,  I  feel  somewhat,  to  use  a  cant- 
term  of  the  profession,  Mondayish.  This  is  said  to 
be  the  minister's  sabbath.  It  may  be  a  day  of  rest : 
it  is  also  a  day  of  ennui  and  uneasy  idleness. 

"  I  shall  hope  for  a  letter  from  you  soon,  though 
I  know  my  mother  does  not  forget  her  children,  even 
when  she  cannot  write  them." 

Under  the  same  date,  he  writes  — 

To  HIS  SISTER-IN-LAW  E.  W.  J. 

"  I  wish  you,  in  the  most  wndignified  manner  pos 
sible,  would  just  drop  in  and  see  me  this  afternoon. 
To-day  is  Monday,  when  it  is  allowed  to  the  minis 
ter  to  be  a  little  free,  a  little  unclerical ;  and  I'll  en 
gage  you  should  not  be  awed  by  any  stiffness  on  my 
part.  Indeed,  I  should  be  very  glad  of  the  chance 
to  break  out  a  little,  I  am  obliged  to  be  so  precise 
and  formal.  I  occupy  a  delightful  room,  with  the 
river,  old  Kennebec,  flowing  just  behind  me,  not 
four  rods  from  our  house.  I  have  married  no  one 
yet,  but  expect  to  officiate  in  that  service  this  week. 
I  thought  of  A.  day  before  yesterday.  I  went  out 
to  slide  with  a  little  boy ;  a  member  of  the  family, 
about  as  old  as  he.  I  remembered  how  he  and 
uncle  f  Conspicuous '  slid  down  Round  Hill,  last 
winter.  Alas !  we  never  shall  again.  A  kiss  for 
the  boy,  and  unfailing  love  for  yourselves." 


184  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

As  Monday  was  Mr.  Judd's  letter-writing  day, 
here  is  still  another  epistle,  having  the  same  date  :  — 

To  G.  L. 

"  My  dear  Cousin,  —  I  acknowledge  my  remiss- 
ness,  if  that  will  go  any  way  towards  excusing  it ; 
and,  for  the  rest,  appeal  to  your  charitable  consider 
ation  of  my  position,  my  engagements,  labors,  &c., 
&c.  Settlement  is  not  being  settled  after  all.  It  is 
a  perpetual  move  and  fluctuancy.  Our  hours  are 
not  our  own,  our  thoughts  are  not  our  own.  We 
are  obligated  to  the  church,  to  God.  I  find  enough 
to  do,  and  my  heart  is  in  what  I  do.  My  labors  are 
constant,  but  not  arduous ;  they  are  fatiguing  at 
times,  but  not  wearing.  I  am  in  good  health,  never 
better ;  and  good  health  is  as  good  as  faith.  Visiting, 
ministerial  decorum,  funerals,  marriages,  &c.,  &c., 
are  full  of  matter  to  talk  about  among  the  initiated, 
and,  great  or  little  as  they  may  be  in  themselves,  are 
full  of  difficulties.  Society  here,  I  am  told,  is  quite 
animated  during  the  session  of  the  Legislature,  which 
meets  next  week.  But,  whatever  goes  on,  it  is  all 
the  same  to  me.  I  have  my  duties,  and  the  world 
its  pleasures.  If  we  touch  these  last,  we  are  too 
apt  to  be  contaminated  by  them.  If  we  could 
correct,  elevate,  and  sanctify  them,  happy  should 
we  be. 

"  W.  is  dead.  Merciful  God !  to  what  are  we 
coming  ?  Make  us  ready. 

"  I  board  in  a  fine  family,  and  am  surrounded  by 
all  needful  comforts.  Heaven  make  me  grateful, 
active,  and  holy !  .  .  .  . 


RESIDENCE. AT    AUGUSTA.  185 

"  Hurrah  for  Harrison !  Do  give  me  leave,  in  this 
little  by-place  in  my  sheet,  to  say  it.  A  minister 
must  not  be  a  politician,  you  know.  Add  to  this, 
that  a  majority  of  my  people  are  Democrats,  and 
you  will  see  I  don't  get  a  chance  to  express  myself 
very  often." 

1841. 

The  remainder  of  the  history  embraced  in  this 
chapter  will  be  arranged  under  the  successive  years 
of  the  period.  The  design  is  to  give  the  general 
current  of  Mr.  Judd's  pastoral  life,  which,  indeed, 
is,  in  the  main,  of  so  even  a  tenor  as  to  furnish  few 
external  incidents  of  striking  interest.  As  in  the 
other  parts  of  the  work,  large  drafts  will  be  made 
upon  his  own  writings.  His  Journal  has  the  follow 
ing  entry  at  the  opening  of  this  year  :  — 

"  Jan.  1,  1841.  — Have  been  wished  a  happy  new 
year ;  hope  it  may  prove  so.  I  wish  all  men  a 
happy  new  year.". 

To  his  mother  he  says,  Jan.  18  :  — 

"The  first  of  January  I  was  called  to  marry  a 
couple.  I  trembled,  I  assure  you,  —  more  than 
they  did,  I  guess.  But  I  shall  get  used  to  it,  I 
suppose." 

Again,  in  Journal,  Jan.  23,  he  writes  :  — 
"Good  Saturday  night.     The  sublime  Sunday  is 
near.     How  I  love  thy  tabernacles,  O  Lord !     I  do 
love  them.     I  lose  myself;  or,  rather,  myself  is  all- 
absorbed  and  taken  up  into  infinity." 

16* 


186  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

FROM  A  JOURNAL-LIKE  LETTER  TO  A.  H. 

"AUGUSTA,  Jan.  25,  1841. 

"  I  am  getting  to  like  my  situation  here  more  and 
more.  Give  me  good,  friends,  and  I  should  be 
happy  in  Spitzbergen.  This  morning  (Monday)  I 
dawdle  and  putter  about.  Have  but  little  to  do,  and 
feel  like  doing  less.  Have  a  great  many  calls  to 
make.  I  am  often  reminded  of  the  dilemma  of  the 
young  clergyman,  who  said  he  frequently  did  not 
ask  for  the  babies  where  they  had  some,  and  did 
ask  for  them  where  they  had  none.  However,  I 
shall  get  acquainted  by  and  by." 

"  Jan.  28.  —  Wrote  sermons  to-day ;  ate  breakfast 
and  dinner  and  supper.  We  sometimes  do  such 
things  here." 

"Feb.  2.  —  Attended  the  funeral  of  Judge  F. 
to-day.  God  prepare  us  to  die  !  I  sometimes  feel 
I  should  not  haggle  long  with  Death,  if  he  should 
be  disposed  to  take  me." 

About  this  time,  Mr.  Judd  entered  into  a  matri 
monial  engagement  with  Miss  Jane  E.  Williams, 
daughter  of  Hon.  Reuel  Williams,  of  Augusta.  Mr. 
Williams  was  one  of  the  original  founders  and  libe 
ral  patrons  of  the  Unitarian  Church  in  Augusta ; 
and,  from  his  first  ministrations  in  the  place,  Mr. 
Judd  had  been  in  the  habit  of  visiting  in  a  friendly 
way  in  this  family. 

This  was  a  great  epoch  in  Mr.  Judd's  interior 
life.  As  is  evident  from  the  general  tone  of  his 
previous  inner  history,  union  of  soul,  sympathy  of 
spirit,  love  and  affection  in  general,  was  to  his  nature 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  187 

the  greatest  want,  next  to  the  favor  of  Heaven. 
But,  tempest-tossed  as  he  had  been  through  so  long 
a  period,  and  still  keenly  suffering  at  times  from  the 
depressing  effects  of  what  he  had  endured,  a  solace 
like  that  arising  from  such  an  alliance  of  heart  with 
his  heart  was  peculiarly  required,  and  particularly 
suited  to  his  present  needs. 

In  the  interval  between  his  engagement  and  mar 
riage,  he  went  on  fulfilling  his  ministerial  duties 
with  more  devoted  energy,  with  deeper  love  for  his 
whole  flock,  with  larger  desires  for  their  highest 
happiness.  In  the  month  of  June,  he  took  a  rural 
walk  with  the  children  of  his  parish  ;  the  first  of 
that  series  which  he  ever  after  annually  kept  up. 
At  this  time,  they  passed  through  a  favorite  little 
place  known  as  "  Happy  Valley,"  and  onward  to 
the  tomb  owned  by  Mr.  Williams,  and  to  the  high 
bluff  near  by  on  the  eastern  bank  of  the  Kennebec, 
commanding  a  pleasant  view. 

On  the  4th  of  July,  he  preached  a  sermon  enti 
tled  "The  Beautiful  Zion,"  the  design  of  which 
was,  in  a  plain  and  simple  manner,  to  set  forth  to 
his  people  the  prominent  objects  at  which  they, 
as  a  Christian  church,  should  aim,  and  the  purposes 
for  which  he,  as  a  Christian  minister,  should  labor. 
This  discourse  he  printed  at  his  own  expense,  and 
distributed  to  each  family  of  his  congregation  for 
their  study  and  consideration. 

Warmly  interested  in  the  religious  state  of  a 
brother,  he  writes  to  him,  July  27  :  — 

"  I  hope  you  will  model  yourself  after  Christ,  and 
not  after  creeds  or  professors  of  religion.  Make  the 


188  RESIDENCE   AT   AUGUSTA. 

"New  Testament  your  study.  Imbibe  the  full  spirit  of 
Christ.  Conform  to  all  his  precepts.  Let  it  be  your 
constant  prayer  that  you  may  be  a  Christ-ian.  indeed." 

In  a  familiar  way,  he  thus  gives  an  account  of  the 
publication  of  his  bans,  to  A.  H.,  August  9  :  — 

"  "We  were  published  yesterday.  '  Rev.  Sylvester 
Judd,  jun.,  and  Miss  Jane  E.  Williams,  intend  mar 
riage.'  People  seemed  glad  their  minister  intends 
marriage  ;  just  as  if  they  had  not  known  it  for  six 
months.  But  there  it  is  in  the  box,  to  satisfy  the 
law,  and,  as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  particularly  dis 
satisfying  to  the  parties  concerned." 

On  the  evening  of  Aug.  31,  1841,  Mr.  Judd  was 
married.  The  morning  after,  he  set  off  with  his 
wife,  to  introduce  her  to  the  family  gathering  at  his 
father's  home.  And  here  he  passed  three  or  four 
weeks  in  the  beloved  family  circle,  and  found  plea 
sure  in  revisiting  the  haunts  of  his  childhood,  —  the 
old  familiar  scenes,  the  spots,  in  some  instances,  where 
the  dark  waters  of  sorrow  had  overwhelmed  his  soul. 
And  not  one  of  the  least  pleasures  of  this  occasion 
was  a  ride  to  Springfield,  in  company  with  his  wife, 
for  the  purpose  of  refunding  to  Mr.  Dwight  the 
money  of  which  he  had  been  so  kind  as  to  give  him 
the  use  in  facilitating  his  theological  studies.  The 
means  of  discharging  this  obligation  had  been  se 
cured  by  the  most  rigid  economy  in  the  use  of  his 
salary.  But  the  delight  experienced  in  now  cancell 
ing  the  last  debt  for  his  education  was  more  than  a 
recompense  for  the  self-denial. 

To  his  brother  C.  P.,  lamenting  his  absence  from 
the  home-circle  at  this  time,  he  says  :  "  You  are  at  a 


KESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  189 

great  distance.  We  are  widely  separated.  The  same 
good  God  cares  for  us  all.  The  religion  of  Christ 
is  blessed  everywhere.  The  virtue  of  our  own  hearts 
will  suffice  for  us  as  well  in  South  Carolina  as  in 
Maine.  The  same  Heaven  will  unite  us  all." 

In  remembrance  of  this  visit,  he,  a  month  or  two 
afterwards,  writes  a  brother  :  "  I  shall  long  remem 
ber  our  sweet,  happy  visit  at  home.  May  we  have 
many  such  !  " 

Shortly  after  returning  to  Augusta,  Mr.  Judd  was 
established  at  housekeeping  on  the  east  side  of  the 
river,  in  the  midst  of  a  very  large  and  pleasant  cir 
cle  of  new  family  connections,  besides  the  agreeable 
society  of  his  own  particular  people.  He  now  felt 
himself  fairly  settled,  in  the  fullest  import  of  the 
word,  and  ready  to  enter,  with  singleness  of  pur 
pose  and  integrity  of  spirit,  upon  the  labors  of  that 
profession  which  had  been  his  early  desire,  and  in 
reference  to  which  he  had  devoted  so  many  years  of 
untiring  study. 

He  writes  in  his  Journal,  Oct.  1 :  "A  year  since 
my  ordination  !  "What  a  year  !  How  interesting  its 
events,  how  solemn  its  issues  !  Have  I  been  faithful 
to  my  people  ?  I  have  given  myself  to  them,  have 
recognized  no  interest  separate  from  my  profession. 
God  bless  me  and  them  ! " 

His  congregation  slowly  increased;  church  meet 
ings  were  kept  up ;  sabbath-school  teachers'  meet 
ings  were  pleasantly  sustained;  the  sabbath-school 
itself  nourished ;  and  he  found  himself  very  happy 
in  discharging  the  duties  of  his  office.  With  leisure 
for  self-collection,  he  cast  about  for  subjects  which 


190  KESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

he  deemed  of  first  importance  to  present  to  the 
consideration  of  his  people.  Among  these,  the  evils 
of  war  and  intemperance  had  their  place.  In  regard 
to  war,  it  will  be  remembered,  that,  as  long  before 
as  when  he  was  a  member  of  Hopkins  Academy,  its 
opposition  to  the  principles  of  the  Prince  of  Peace 
attracted  his  notice,  and  formed  the  theme  of  one  or 
two  compositions.  Nov.  8,  1841,  he  writes  a  bro 
ther  :  "  I  am  sorry  you  must  train.  The  militia  is 
a  horrible  system  ;  barbarous  as  ten  heathenisms  ; 
utterly  antichristian.  So  I  view  it.  Can  a  Chris 
tian  be  a  fighter,  a  killer  of  his  own  flesh  and  blood  ? 
What  think  you  of  that  ?  "  On  Thanksgiving-day, 
this  year,  he  writes  his  mother  of  his  thoughts  of 
her,  and  of  his  wish  to  be  at  home  ;  and  hoped  the 
time  would  come  when  all  the  members  of  the  fa 
mily  could  be  there  at  that  festival. 


At  the  commencement  of  the  year  1842,  Mr. 
Judd  formed  the  plan  of  delivering  in  his  church, 
once  a  month,  on  sabbath  evenings,  a  lecture  on 
some  moral  subject  of  general  importance.  The 
first  of  this  series  was  delivered  to  a  crowded  audi 
ence.  The  subject  was  "  Washingtonianism,"  a  form 
of  operation  in  favor  of  temperance,  in  which  he 
was  very  much  interested.  The  second  lecture  of 
the  course  was  upon  "  Popular  Amusements  in  con 
nection  with  Morals  and  Religion,"  which  was  also 
given  to  a  very  full  house. 

The  theme  of  the  third  lecture  was  "A  Moral 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  191 

Review  of  the  Revolutionary  "War ;  or  some  of 
the  Evils  of  that  Event  considered."  The  aim 
of  the  discourse  was  to  make  the  evils  of  the 
Revolutionary  War,  which  he  acknowledged  to  be 
the  holiest  war  on  record,  an  argument  to  the  minds 
of  his  hearers  for  the  renunciation  of  all  war.  The 
Legislature  of  the  State  was  in  session ;  and  many  of 
its  members  were  among  his  audience.  In  detailing 
the  evils  attending  the  contest,  he  was  understood  by 
many  to  reflect  upon  Washington  and  other  fathers 
of  the  Revolution.  Some  members  of  the  Legisla 
ture  were  so  angry  as  to  leave  the  house  while  he 
was  speaking,  and  the  most  of  them  were  seriously 
offended.  Mr.  Judd,  in  common  with  the  other 
clergymen  of  Augusta  and  Hallowell,  as  was  cus 
tomary  at  every  session,  had  been  requested  this 
winter  to  officiate  in  turn  as  chaplain  of  both  houses. 
So  high  was  the  state  of  excited  feeling  among  the 
members,  that  the  first  official  business  they  did,  on 
meeting  the  next  morning,  was  to  pass  and  transmit 
to  Mr.  Judd  an  order  of  dismissal.  His  own  people, 
however,  stood  by  him,  and  even  adhered  to  him  the 
closer  for  this  unwarrantable  attempt  to  interfere 
with  his  liberty  in  the  pastoral  office. 

The  excitement  produced  by  this  discourse,  and 
its  consequences,  were  altogether  surprising  to  Mr. 
Judd.  He  wrote  it,  not  as  a  politician,  but  as  a 
Christian,  and  from  the  conscientious  conviction  in 
his  own  mind  that  all  war  is  wrong.  He  felt  that 
his  position  in  the  matter  was  wholly  misunderstood ; 
that  few,  if  any,  whom  this  sermon  displeased,  looked 
at  the  subject  from  his  point  of  view. 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

He  therefore  felt  it  important  to  publish  the  dis 
course,  that  all  who  heard  him  might  have  the 
opportunity  of  a  calm,  deliberate  perusal,  and  thus 
the  better  judge  of  its  true  spirit ;  and  that,  so  far 
as  rumors  went  abroad  respecting  it,  the  public 
might  have  an  opportunity  to  judge  of  his  true 
position.  This  he  did,  adding  copious  notes,  and 
giving  a  long  list  of  references  as  authority  for  his 
statements.  The  whole  was  prefaced  by  an  Intro 
duction,  addressed  "  To  all  who  love  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  and  would  be  obedient  to  his  heavenly  mission." 
He  commences  by  saying,  "  The  writer  of  the  fol 
lowing  discourse  is  a  minister  of  the  gospel ;  of  that 
gospel  which  was  ushered  into  the  world  with  glad 
tidings  of  peace,  and  left  to  the  world  with  a  promise 
of  peace ;  of  that  gospel  whose  soul  and  life,  whose 
doctrine  and  practice,  are  peace  among  men."  He 
goes  on  to  say,  "  He  believes,  that,  if  Christ  himself 
were  now  on  the  earth,  he  would  never,  for  any 
pretext,  reason,  or  motive  whatever,  engage  in  war. 
....  It  is  his  single  desire,  in  this  discourse,  by 
unfolding  the  evils  of  war,  to  disseminate  the  love 
and  the  observances  of  peace.  He  would  make  the 
evils  of  the  Revolutionary  War,  be  they  more  or 
less,  an  argument  to  the  mind  of  his  hearers  for  the 
renunciation  of  all  war.  He  would  dispel  the  illu 
sion  of  war,  by  entering  its  most  sacred  retreats, 
and  showing  that  an  essential  evil  cleaves  to  the 
system,  and  that  immoralities  are  inborn  in  its  purest 
sources. 

"  He  protests  that  he  has  no  wish  to  reflect  upon 
the  fathers  of  the  Revolution  ;  as  noble  a  race  of 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  193 

men  as  the  earth  affords,  in  every  other  capacity, 
but  who,  in  their  war-capacity,  —  and  among  them 
he  enumerates  his  own  ancestry, : —  the  facts  deve 
loped  in  this  discourse  serve  to  indicate,  were  not 
proof  against  that  gorgon-face  which  turns  every 
thing  it  looks  upon  into  another  nature. 

"  In  the  conduct  of  the  discourse,  he  has  confined 
himself  chiefly  to  facts  ;  facts  which  are  a  matter  of 
historical  record  ;  facts,  which,  in  the  copiousness 
of  the  references,  are  open  to  every  one's  revision. 
If  there  be  any  sentiments  in  the  discourse,  they  are 
the  sentiments  of  facts  ;  if  there  be  any  argument 
in  the  discourse,  it  is  the  argument  of  facts ;  if  there 
be  any  crimination,  it  is  the  crimination  of  facts  ;  if 
any  strictures,  they  are  the  strictures  of  facts ;  if  any 
libel,  it  is  the  libel  of  facts.  He  took  the  facts  as 
he  found  them,  —  too  stubborn  things  to  be  winked 
out  of  sight  j  and  he  presented  them  as  he  found 
them,  hoping  that  the  facts,  and  the  facts  alone, 
would  have  weight  with  his  hearers.  .  .  . 

"  He  freely  allows  to  all  concerned  to  regard  the 
war  in  what  light  they  please.  He  claims  the  same 
right  for  himself.  He  does  not  ask  his  readers  to 
adopt  his  point  of  view.  He  conceives,  that,  if  they 
will  only  stand  in  it  but  for  a  moment,  they  will  con 
fess  the  writer  is  not  to  be  wholly  condemned.  .  .  . 

"  The  writer  is  supposed  to  have  been  actuated 
by  hostile  feelings  to  the  Revolutionary  War  in 
particular ;  which  is  so  far  from  being  the  fact,  that, 
if  there  is  any  war  for  which  he  may  be  supposed  to 
cherish  friendly  feelings,  it  is  that  war.  But  he 
looks  upon  war  in  the  abstract,  —  upon  all  war,  — 

17 


194  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

as  antichristian  and  demoralizing.  When  contem 
plating  the  subject  of  peace  or  war  as  one  of  the 
series  of  his  monthly  lectures,  it  was  a  matter  of 
comparative  indifference  to  him  how  he  treated  it,  — 
that  is,  whether  by  discussing  its  general  principles, 
or  exhibiting  its  characteristic  details,  —  provided 
only  he  could  secure  this  effect  among  his  hearers  ; 
a  love  of  peace,  and  an  aversion  to  war.  Finally,  in 
casting  about  over  a  field  ample  enough  for  volumes 
of  discourses,  he  thought  he  would  select  the  Ame 
rican  Revolution  as  that  with  which  both  himself 
and  his  hearers  were  most  familiar.  .  .  .  He  threw 
off  the  facts  to  his  hearers  in  such  language  as  first 
suggested  itself.  If  there  be  any  thing  in  the 
writer's  own  expression  calculated  unnecessarily  to 
wound  long-cherished  sensibilities,  or  to  retard  in 
any  degree  the  object  he  has  in  view,  no  one  can 
regret  it  more  than  himself.  .  .  .  He  does  not  deny 
there  were  causes  for  a  separation  from  Great  Britain ; 
for  rebellion  against  the  government,  if  you  please. 
He  only  submits  if  there  were  causes  for  a  war  with 
that  country.  .  .  .  He  does  not  conceive  we  are  to 
attribute  the  freedom,  independence,  prosperity,  and 
ease  we  now  enjoy  as  American  citizens  to  the.  war, 
so  much  as  to  those  elements  of  liberty  which  God 
Has  implanted  in  the  human  breast,  and  which  are 
stimulated  into  action  by  a  just  view  of  man,  and  of 
his  relations  to  society ;  elements  which  are  enduring 
as  the  soul,  and  will  survive  when  armies  and  battle 
fields  are  forgotten  for  ever.  He  does  not  conceive 
that  our  liberties  depend  upon  a  point  of  polished 
iron,  but  upon  the  deep-seated  purposes  of  liberty, 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  195 

habitually  cherished  and  rightly  exercised  in  the 
soul  itself.  We  are  free,  not  because  our  fathers 
exchanged  shots  with  British  soldiers,  but  because 
we  would  be  free.  Independence  is  of  the  soul,  not 
of  nitre,  sulphur,  and  charcoal." 

The  discourse  and  explanations  being  published, 
and  an  opportunity  thus  given  leisurely  to  examine 
the  grounds  taken  by  Mr.  Judd,  it  was  found  to 
be  not  so  great  a  bugbear  as  was  supposed ;  and  the 
excitement  soon  died  away. 

The  American  Peace  Society  passed  a  "resolve  of 
sympathy  with  the  Rev.  Mr.  Judd,  in  the  persecu 
tion  he  had  suffered,  of  admiration  for  his  courage, 
and  of  approval  of  the  great  object  of  the  sermon 
as  correct  and  Christian."  He  received  many  letters 
of  sympathy,  mingled  with  congratulations,  for  the 
stand  he  had  taken  in  the  cause  of  peace  ;  and  the 
press,  to  a  considerable  extent,  espoused  his  cause, 
and  condemned  the  course  of  the  Legislature  in  dis 
missing  him  from  office  for  the  utterance  of  his  own 
honest  opinions,  in  his  own  church,  and  to  his 
own  people,  while  they  had  nothing  of  which  to 
complain  in  the  discharge  of  his  official  duties  to 
them. 

The  subject  of  re-appointment,  as  one  of  the  chap 
lains,  came  up  at  the  next  session,  and  caused  con 
siderable  debate.  Several  members  claimed,  in  effect, 
"  that  the  clergyman  alluded  to  should  not  be  pun 
ished  for  opinions  expressed,  not  in  the  House,  in 
the  way  of  his  duty,  but  among  his  own  people,  and 
in  his  own  desk."  One  member  "regarded  the  act  of 
the  last  year  as  intolerant ;"  another  "  thought  the 


196  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

address  did  not  contain  such  charges  as  were  alleged, 
or  could  be  sustained ;  "  another,  still,  "  did  not  want 
to  hear  prayers  from  such  a  source.  He  believed 
that  the  sentiments  of  Mr.  Judd  came  from  his  heart. 
They  came  from  a  heart  desperately  wicked,  and  the 
Scriptures  teach  us  that  the  prayers  of  the  wicked 
are  an  abomination  before  the  sight  of  the  Lord." 
The  matter  was  finally  evaded  by  appointing  a  com 
mittee  for  inviting  clergymen  to  officiate ;  and  Mr. 
Judd  was  omitted. 

Near  the  commencement  of  this  year,  Mr.  Judd 
began  meeting  a  class  of  young  ladies  for  literary 
improvement.  He  held  social  meetings,  at  private 
houses,  for  the  general  improvement  of  his  congre 
gation.  He  also  established  a  sort  of  parish  levee 
for  pastor  and  people,  to  be  held  once  a  month. 

There  was  this  year  a  general  excitement,  on  the 
subject  of  religion,  among  several  denominations  of 
the  town,  in  which  some  of  Mr.  Judd's  -people 
shared. 

It  had  always  been  a  great  desire  of  his  heart,  that 
the  barriers  of  sect  should  be  broken  down;  that 
Christians  of  different  name  should  become  acquaint 
ed  with  each  other,  should  mingle  their  sympathies 
on  common  ground,  and  thus  learn  to  love  one 
another ;  and  now,  in  the  earnest  hope  of  effecting 
this  object,  he  addressed  the  following  proposal,  for 
a  union-meeting  of  the  several  denominations  of 
Christians  in  the  town  of  Augusta,  to  each  of  the 
clergymen :  — 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  197 

"  Rer. "  AUGUSTA,  AprU  9,  1842. 

"  Dear  Sir,  —  In  view  of  tlie  religious  interest 
which  pervades  so  deeply  all  classes  of  the  people, 
it  seems  desirable  that  there  should  be  a  better  un 
derstanding  among  the  several  varieties  of  Chris 
tians. 

"  I  propose,  therefore,  that  a  union-meeting  of  all 
denominations  be  held,  at  some  convenient  time  and 
place ;  say  at  Dr.  T.'s  church,  as  that  is  most  com 
modious  ;  perhaps  on  Wednesday  evening,  April 
20th :  the  several  congregations  to  be  represented  in 
their  several  ministers,  and  the  several  ministers  to 
be  represented  in  their  several  congregations. 

"The  action  of  the  meeting  shall  consist  in  a 
mutual  confession  of  sin;  mutual  forgiveness  and 
reconciliation ;  mutual  prayer  for  the  blessing  of 
God ;  exhortations  to  kindness  and  brotherly  love ; 
persuasives  to  holiness ;  in  endeavors  to  promote 
harmony  of  feeling  in  the  midst  of  variety  in  doc 
trines  and  forms  ;  to  enlarge  the  rights  of  conscience ; 
to  stay  the  progress  of  infidelity ;  to  add  to  the 
reverence  of  our  common  religion ;  to  compose  the 
discords  that  mar  the  beauty  of  our  Zion  ;  and  things 
similar  and  tantamount.  The  aim  and  object  of  the 
meeting  shall  be  the  destruction  of  sin,  the  triumphs 
of  the  gospel,  and  the  taking  of  some  steps  towards 
the  ushering  in  of  the  millennial  days. 

"It  might  be  well,  perhaps,  that  the  ministers 
should  conduct  the  exercises  of  the  occasion. 

"  Topics  that  might  serve  for  consideration,  or  be 
made  subjects  of  remark,  and  form  a  basis  in  this 
movement  of  harmony,  are  such  as  the  following  :  — 

17* 


198  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

"The  necessity  of  reconciliation  as  a  means  of 
securing  the  blessing  of  God,  —  Matt.  v.  23,  £4 ; 
The  beauty  of  holiness ;  The  harmony  of  heaven ; 
Agreeing  to  disagree;  Love  the  chiefest  of  the 
graces ;  Our  points  of  harmony  numerous  and  im 
portant;  The  preciousness  of  the  gospel;  Attach 
ment  to  Christ ;  How  much  better  our  motives  are 
than  they  seem  ;  The  evil  of  sin ;  —  and  such  like 
topics  as  may  seem  best  adapted  to  secure  the  ends 
of  the  meeting. 

"  Such  a  meeting,  it  seems  to  me,  would  be,  or 
might  be  made,  one  of  the  happiest  our  town  or  the 
church  of  Christ  has  seen  for  many  a  day,  and  would 
tend  essentially  to  the  advancement  of  the  Redeem 
er's  kingdom.  With  great  regards,  I  subscribe  my 
self  your  Christian  Brother, 

"  SYLVESTER  JUDD,  JR." 

In  reference  to  this,  he  afterwards  expressed  him 
self  as  follows  :  "  This  proposal  only  contemplates  a 
single  meeting,  for  a  single  evening  ;  a  one  hour's 
union  and  conciliation  of  the  scattered  members  of 
the  Christian  body  about  their  common  Head  and 
Master,  Christ ;  a  solitary  conjunction,  in  the  interval 
of  ages,  with  the  great  central  Orb  of  the  lights  of 
the  world,  whose  several  circuits  are  so  diverse, 
antagonistical,  discordant ;  a  momentary  realization, 
here  on  the  earth,  of  that  heaven  we  hope  so  soon 
to  enter,  and  whose  level  we  must  so  soon  be  com 
pelled  to  take." 

It  was  expected,  that  the  several  congregations, 
while  each  retained  its  peculiarities  of  doctrine,  form, 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  199 

and  practice,  would  retire  from  the  meeting  with 
kinder  feelings,  readier  sympathies,  and  a  more  con 
sonant  zeal  in  the  great  work  to  which  all  are  de 
voted. 

This  proposal  was  concurred  in  by  the  ministers 
of  the  Episcopal,  the  Universalist,  and  the  Free-will 
Baptist  churches  :  but  the  Calvinistic  and  Methodist 
declined ;  the  Baptist  did  not  fully  respond  to  the 
call;  the  Roman  Catholic  clergyman  was  out  of 
town ;  and,  much  to  the  grief  of  Mr.  Judd,  and  the 
disappointment  of  his  hopes,  the  proposed  plan  for 
fostering  Christian  intercourse  between  those  taking 
the  same  gospel  for  their  standard,  and  journeying 
on  in  the  hope  of  enjoying  the  same  heaven  through 
eternity,  entirely  failed. 

Ever  feeling  that  the  spirit  of  human  brotherhood 
was  one  of  the  first  importance,  and,  on  the  contrary, 
that  war  was  one  of  the  greatest  hindrances  to  na 
tional  prosperity,  his  Thanksgiving  sermon  this  year 
was  on  "  Peace  as  a  Means  of  retaining  our  National 
Blessings." 

In  his  usual  Thanksgiving  letter  to  his  mother,  he 

says,  "A.,  in  her  letter  to  P n,  gives  you  an 

account  of  our  Thanksgiving.  It  is  less  joyous  to 
me,  because  I  must  preach ;  and  at  such  times,  too, 
I  am  wont  to  select  topics  that  please  neither  me 
nor  my  hearers  best,  but  such  as  I  consider  most 
necessary.  Then,  too,  I  get  so  tired.  "When  I 
came  home  from  church,  I  could  hardly  sit  in  my 
chair  for  very  weariness." 


200  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

1843. 

In  the  spring  of  1843,  Mr.  Judd  entered  upon 
his  first  effectual  labors  of  authorship,  so  far  as  the 
manual  execution  was  concerned.  He  found  it  diffi 
cult,  however,  to  secure  the  necessary  leisure  for 
this  purpose,  while  at  the  same  time  attending  to  his 
numerous  ministerial,  parochial,  and  other  duties  ; 
and  it  was  by  great  industry  that  he  made  much 
progress  in  it.  So  much  was  he  engaged  in  his 
literary  efforts  this  year,  that  correspondence  with 
friends  was  much  less  frequent  than  was  his  wont. 
To  his  brother  H i  he  writes,  under  date,  — 

"  AUGUSTA,  April  9,  1843. 

"  Press  towards  the  mark.  Be  temperate  in  all 
.things,  —  eating,  drinking,  feeling,  acting.  '  Make 
haste  slowly  '  is  an  old  maxim.  Our  country  pre 
sents  a  certain  uniform  level  of  distinction,  wealth, 
and  so  forth.  No  one  can  rise  to  advantage,  except 
his  ground  be  most  secure.  A  merchant's  life  is  an 
honorable  and  a  useful  one.  But  read  much,  think 
much,  acquire  a  reputation  for  sound  judgment  more 
than  for  summary  despatch.  Integrity  is  respected, 
disinterestedness  esteemed.  I  say  nothing  of  those 
who  by  artifice  and  show  gain  popularity.  Their 
fall  is  generally  sudden,  as  their  rise  is  unworthy. 
Honesty  of  u-pose,  purity  of  motive,  soundness  of 
understanding,  will  alone  endure  in  the  long-run. 
Be  above  the  '  tricks  of  trade,'  condescend  not  to 
low  artifice,  despair  not  of  humanity,  love  all,  and 
serve  God.  Be  not  too  much  immersed  in  politics. 
I  was  moved  to  say  a  few  words  to  you,  my  dear 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  201 

brother,  and  shall  be  glad  to  know  of  your  views 
and  feelings  and  plans.  Your  interest  and  happiness 
are  near  my  heart." 

In  allusion  to  his  studies  in  ornithology,  to  which 
he  was  led  with  reference  to  the  literary  work  on 
which  he  was  engaged,  is  the  following  letter  — 

To  HIS  FATHER. 

"  July  4,  1843. 

"  We  have  been  giving  some  attention  to  birds, 
that  C.  P.  will  tell  you  about.  One  is  astonished  at 
the  variety  of  birds,  and  the  extent  of  his  own 
ignorance  regarding  them.  I  find  the  common  peo 
ple  know  nothing  about  them.  The  farmers  and 
woodsmen  can't  give  me  the  name,  even  a  common 
name,  for  the  most  familiar  species.  For  years,  the 
birds,  the  same  birds,  have  been  flying,  singing  all 
about  them  ;  and  they  have  made  no  distinctions, 
laid  up  no  observations.  Boys  and  girls  don't  know 
the  yellowbird  or  goldfinch.  The  robin,  I  believe, 
all  know,  and  but  little  more.  All  know  it  by  sight ; 
yet  few  are  acquainted  with  its  sweet,  soft,  long- 
continued  warble.  I  have  heard  it  deep  in  the 
woods,  and  about  our  house,  by  the  hour  together." 

He  passed  some  weeks  in  Northampton  about  this 
time,  and  visited  Westhampton,  and  also  H«£wich, 
the  former  residence  of  his  maternal  grandfather, 
seeking  some  hints  for  the  romance  he  had  on  hand. 

The  extracts  that  follow  are  from  a  letter  written 
to  one  of  his  church,  on  the  removal  of  a  sister 
from  this  life  :  — 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

To  Miss  S.  F. 

"AUOIUSTA,  Nov.  29,  1843. 

"  It  has  pleased  God,  in  his  own  time  and  in  his 
own  way,  to  take  her  to  himself.  To  take  her  to 
himself,  I  say.  You  know  somewhat  my  views  of 
death ;  you  know  my  own  hopes  of  the  departed 
believer.  I  have  endeavored  in  various  ways  to 
unfold  what  seems  to  be  the  great  gospel  doctrine 
of  our  relation  to  the  future  world.  This  is  a 
fundamental  idea,  —  that  the  good  Father  of  all  re 
ceives  to,  and  cherishes  in,  his  own  bosom  the  souls 
of  all  his  children.  Christ  said  he  was  going  to  the 
Father,  whence  he  came ;  and  he  tells  his  disciples, 
that,  where  he  is,  there  shall  they  be  also.  I  believe 
that  we  enter  upon  a  new  condition  of  existence  ; 
that  we  assume  new  bodies  like  unto  Christ's  glori 
fied  body.  Hence,  as  I  have  often  had  occasion  to 
say,  there  is  no  death  to  the  believer.  '  What  we 
call  death  is  only  entering  the  door  of  a  higher  and 
better  life.  It  is  the  bridge  that  carries  us  across  to 
fairer  lands,  to  more  propitious  skies. 

"  But  these  thoughts  are  familiar  to  you  ;  and  I 
cannot  doubt,  in  this  hour  of  darkness  and  bereave 
ment,  you  look  to  the  serene,  unfading  Light  in  the 
heavens  which  disease  shall  never  blight,  nor  death 
destroy.  Already,  in  repeated  instances,  has  your 
heart  been  called  —  to  mourn,  shall  I  say  ?  To 
weep  ?  to  be  distressed  ?  Yes,  if  you  please.  But 
has  it  not  been  called  also  to  heaven  ?  Has  not 
your  eye  been  raised  to  the  world  of  spirits  ?  Have 
not  voices  been  sent  to  you  from  Jesus,  to  summon 
your  own  faith  and  affections  to  the  abodes  of  the 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  203 

blest  ?  If  the  light  that  has  shone  about  your 
earthly  path  be  extinguished,  does  it  not  glow  more 
brightly  in  the  world  to  which  you  go  ?  . 

"  May  the  blessing  of  Him  who  was  ever  ready  to 
sympathize  with  the  distressed,  comfort  the  mourn 
ing,  and  sustain  the  dying,  be  and  abide  with  you 
continually  !  With  sincere  regards  and  prayers  for 
your  peace,  I  am  yours." 

1844. 

Jan.  1,  1844,  began  with  Mr.  Judd  by  his  re 
ceiving  from  the  ladies  of  his  congregation  a  valua 
ble  cloak,  and  sundry  other  articles  of  convenience. 
On  the  8th  of  this  month,  he  received  official  notice 
of  his  election  to  act  as  chaplain  at  the  State  House. 
Having  pressed  on,  as  best  he  might,  in  the  composi 
tion  of  "  Margaret,"  this  spring  found  him  advanced 
to  Part  III.  In  April  he  set  out  many  trees  about 
the  house  of  his  father-in-law,  which  he  occupied,  in 
Myrtle-street,  doing  much  of  the  work  with  his  own 
hands.  In  the  front  part  of  the  yard  he  planted 
quite  a  thicket,  by  grouping  together  young  trees  of 
many  different  sorts,  as  they  are  often  found  in  their 
native  woods. 

The  ensuing  May,  after  attending  the  religious 
anniversaries  at  Boston,  he  spent  a  few  weeks  in  the 
city  of  New  York,  and  examined  carefully  all  the 
objects  of  nature  and  of  art  in  and  about  this  great 
metropolis ;  taking  with  him,  as  sole  companion  on 
his  excursions,  the  same  little  nephew  in  whose 
down-hill  sliding  sports  he  participated  a  few  years 


204  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

before.  He  passed  up  the  Hudson  to  Albany,  highly 
enjoying  the  beautiful  scenery  upon  its  banks,  and 
from  that  city  pursued  his  way  homeward,  through 
the  grandeur  of  Berkshire  highlands,  to  Springfield. 

In  June,  after  his  return  to  Augusta,  we  find  him 
taking  the  sabbath-school  children  to  "  Happy  Val 
ley,"  to  lecture  them  on  ornithology.  And,  for  the 
August  following,  he  planned  a  rural  festival  for 
sabbath-school  scholars,  teachers,  and  parents,  to  be 
held  among  the  pines  of  "  Malta  Hill,"  an  eminence 
on  the  eastern  side  of  the  Kennebec,  and  there 
delivered  a  sermon,  full  of  beauty,  on  "  The  Church 
in  the  Woods."  Finding  none  enough  at  leisure, 
or  sufficiently  enthusiastic  in  regard  to  the  happy 
influences  of  such  a  rural,  social  gathering,  to  afford 
him  much  aid  in  the  preparations,  —  pressed  as  he 
was  in  his  own  literary  and  other  labors,  and  natu 
rally  having  very  little  power  of  physical  endurance, 
he  went  to  the  woods  nearly  alone,  and  worked  hard 
in  making  the  appearance  of  the  spot  as  attractive 
as  he  could. 

This  year,  having  become  somewhat  widely  known 
as  an  engaging  speaker,  he  received  many  invitations 
to  give  public  addresses. 

In  order  to  indulge  his  natural  fondness  for  me 
chanical  operations,  and,  at  the  same  time,  furnish 
the  little  articles  of  convenience  that  it  would  afford, 
he  fixed  up  a  sort  of  carpenter's  shop  in  his  barn, 
obtained  tools,  and  from  time  to  time  disposed  of 
some  of  his  hours  of  exercise  there.  He  also  culti 
vated,  with  some  assistance,  quite  a  garden. 

His  relations  to  his  people  went  on  pleasantly, 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  205 

and  his  various  other  pursuits  and  interests  did  not 
call  off  his  attention  from  the  great  objects  of  his 
profession. 

In  September  of  this  year,  his  first  child  was 
born.  Something  of  his  impressions,  on  entering 
upon  this  new  relation,  will  be  found  in  another 
chapter.  In  November  following,  the  twin,  ideal 
child,  "Margaret,"  was  matured  for  birth  into  the 
literary  world.  With  reference  to  its  completion, 
he  thus  writes :  — 

?p  A.  H. 

"Nov.  24,1844. 

"  I  finished  my  book  last  Friday.  I  have  written 
on  it  till  my  hand  is  stiff,  my  eyes  are  sore,  and  my 
back  aches.  It  has  taken  every  leisure  moment. 
I  have  not  written  a  line  to  father,  mother,  brother, 
or  sister,  these  months.  I  was  resolved  to  finish 
that,  before  I  did  any  thing  else." 

1845. 

Since  the  first  rise  of  Washingtonianism,  Mr. 
Judd  had  been  actively  engaged  in  its  objects.  As 
time  passed  on,  its  method  of  operating  on  the 
principles  of  moral  suasion  had  seemed  to  fail,  and 
interest  in  it  had  declined.  His  faith  in  it,  how 
ever,  had  not  abated,  neither  was  his  interest  in 
temperance  diminished.  And,  in  the  beginning  of 
1845,  he  preached  to  his  people,  and  afterwards 
published,  a  "Discourse  touching  the  Causes  and 
Remedies  of  Intemperance."  He  finds  the  failure 

18 


206  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

of  the  Washingtonian  movement  to  arise  from  this, 
that  it  was  rather  an  impulse  than  a  principle,  a 
sentiment  rather  than  sound  faith;  and  reiterated 
his  belief,  that  light,  love,  and  God's  spirit,  would 
be  availing.  A  great  deal  of  excitement  about  tem 
perance  arose  in  the  place ;  and  in  all  the  movements 
respecting  it  he  was  concerned,  but  constantly  ad 
hered  to  his  original  principle,  that  the  spirit  of  love 
might  be  made  more  effectual  in  removing  the  evil 
than  the  penalties  of  law.  He  held  conversations 
with  intemperate  men,  entered  into  sympathy  with 
them,  sought  to  understand  their  difficulties  in  the 
way  of  reform,  and  encouraged  their  efforts  for  re 
gaining  lost  respectability. 

The  jail  he  frequently  visited,  and  endeavored  to 
exert  humanizing  influences  upon  its  inmates,  and 
to  elevate  their  aspirations  to  virtue  and  honor. 
He  inquired  into  the  state  of  their  families,  and, 
as  far  as  he  was  able,  sent  necessaries  to  such  of 
them  as  were  suffering. 

On  Christmas  eve  of  this  year,  his  church  was, 
for  the  first  time,  opened  for  religious  exercises,  — 
a  practice  ever  after  continued.  The  necessary  aid 
in  trimming  the  church  not  forthcoming,  he  went 
forward  himself,  and  obtained  the  evergreens  for  the 
purpose. 

After  many  delays  in  publishing,  in  August 
"  Margaret "  was  fairly  out  of  press,  and  ready  to 
make  her  debut  in  the  world.  From  various  causes, 
Mr.  Judd  was  disappointed  in  his  hope  to  keep  him 
self  concealed  as  the  author  of  the  book.  He  now 
appeared  before  his  people  in  a  new  aspect,  and  there 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  207 

became  attached  to  him  a  degree  of  personal  pub 
licity,  which  he  did  not  intend  or  wish. 

He  had,  for  some  time,  been  desirous  of  a  more 
commodious  study  than  the  house  he  occupied  afford 
ed,  and  one  more  favorably  situated  as  to  prospect 
and  the  inflowing  of  nature's  influences.  He  wished 
for  a  larger  extent  of  ground,  such  as  should  give  op 
portunity,  in  addition  to  a  garden,  for  fruit  and  shade 
trees,  for  shrubbery,  lawn,  and  walks ;  and,  in  the 
spring  of  this  year,  he  began  to  look  about  for  such 
a  building  lot  as  would  afford  scope  for  the  realiza 
tion  of  his  wishes.  He  obtained  a  copy  of  Downing's 
"  Cottage  Residences ;  "  and  from  this  work,  which 
he  examined  with  great  pleasure  and  interest,  he 
received  most  valuable  suggestions,  which  aided  him 
in  maturing  a  plan  of  such  a  house  as  would  satisfy 
his  taste  and  convenience. 

But,  with  his  small  salary,  he  had  no  means  of  his 
own,  wherewith  to  carry  this  project  into  execution. 
In  this  juncture,  his  father-in-law  gave  him  a  com 
modious  lot,  adjacent  to  his  own  homestead,  a  site 
Mr.  Judd  particularly  admired,  and  furnished  him 
funds  to  the  estimated  amount  of  the  cost  of  the 
buildings  he  had  planned. 

His  correspondence  this  year  was,  in  consequence 
of  his  increasing  engagements,  quite  limited. 

1846. 

The  beginning  of  1846  finds  Mr.  Judd  devoting 
his  leisure  to  the  writing  of  "Philo."  In  February 
he  became  a  member  of  the  Sons  of  Temperance. 


208  RESIDENCE    AT   AUGUSTA. 

The  basis  of  this  association  being  such  as  he  could 
fully  sympathize  in,  to  its  interests  he  devoted  much 
of  his  time.  In  March  he  was  appointed  by  the 
town  one  of  the  committee  on  common  schools,  the 
interests  of  which  had  received  much  of  his  atten 
tion. 

As  the  spring  opened,  he  began  to  be  very  much 
engaged  in  preparations  for  the  building  of  his 
house,  the  superintendence  of  which,  the  preparation 
of  the  grounds,  setting  out  trees,  and  so  forth, 
engrossed  much  of  his  time  for  the  following  sum 
mer  and  autumn.  In  July  of  this  year,  however,  he 
found  time  to  prepare  an  address,  which  he  delivered 
before  the  Sons  of  Temperance  in  "Waterville. 

On  the  21st  of  November,  he  removed  to  his  new 
home.  His  first  thought,  after  getting  well  settled, 
was  to  have  a  consecration  of  its  freshness  to  his 
people.  A  general  invitation  was  publicly  given  to 
every  member  of  his  congregation  to  visit  him  on 
Thanksgiving  evening.  The  verandas  and  every 
window  of  the  cottage  being  illuminated,  a  beauti 
fully  attractive  and  welcome  aspect  was  presented  to 
his  people  as  they  approached.  On  entering,  they 
found  the  study  —  which  was  the  largest  apartment, 
and  the  room  of  reception  —  adorned  with  ever 
greens,  and,  in  the  midst,  their  loving  pastor,  with 
deep  and  tender  emotion  beaming  from  his  counte 
nance.  In  another  room  was  spread  a  sumptuous 
repast,  furnished  by  the  guests  themselves. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  evening,  Mr.  Judd  gath 
ered  all  to  the  study,  and  there,  with  a  trembling 
voice,  and  feelings  almost  too  strong  for  control, 


RESIDENCE    A<T    AUGUSTA.  209 

spoke  to  his  people  in  a  most  familiar  and  heart-felt 
manner.  He  acknowledged  that  his  cares  in  the 
erection  of  the  edifice  had  beguiled  him  somewhat 
from  his  attentions  to  them.  He  begged  their  par 
don  for  any  neglect,  but  at  the  same  time  assured 
them,  that  the  labor  had  been  in  part  for  them ; 
that  that  study  was  for  the  better  preparation  of 
spiritual  food  for  them ;  that  theirs  it  was  for  fami 
liar  resort  to  their  pastor  at  any  time ;  that  the 
verandas  were  for  them  to  sit  under,  the  walks  to 
promenade  in  at  their  pleasure,  and  the  arbors  for 
their  children  to  sport  in.  He  told  them  he  felt 
that  all  these  comforts  would  tend  to  make  him 
more  entirely  theirs.  And,  in  conclusion,  he  bap 
tized  his  new  domicile,  as  consecrated  to  them,  under 
the  name  of  Christ  Church  Parsonage,  and  then 
closed  the  evening  with  fervent  prayer  for  himself 
and  them  in  their  mutual  relations. 

1847. 

The  first  month  of  this  new  year,  Mr.  Judd,  still 
anxious  for  a  pleasant  intercourse  among  different 
denominations,  invited  all  the  clergymen  of  the 
town,  with  their  wives,  to  meet  each  other  sociably 
at  his  house.  Quite  a  number  accepted  the  invita 
tion  ;  but,  from  various  causes,  the  circle  was  not  so 
complete  as  he  had  hoped.  The  example  was  fol 
lowed  in  one  or  two  instances,  and  then  non-inter 
course  again  ensued.  He  had,  in  various  ways, 
sought  to  maintain  agreeable  ministerial  intercourse ; 
but,  not  meeting  with  those  results  for  which  his 

18* 


210  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

own  heart  yearned,  he  made  no  more  marked  efforts 
for  its  attainment.  In  the  summer  of  this  year, 
however,  he  was  gladdened  by  the  union  of  all  the 
sabbath  schools  in  town,  in  a  floral  procession,  on 
the  Fourth  of  July.  This  affected  him  so  deeply 
that  he  made  the  value  of  such  a  union,  and  the 
happy  consequences  flowing  therefrom,  the  subject 
of  a  discourse  the  next  sabbath. 

During  this  year,  his  duties  as  one  of  the  school 
committee  occupied  a  great  deal  of  his  time  and 
thoughts.  He  examined  teachers,  made  frequent 
visits  to  schools,  talked  with  scholars  and  teachers, 
if  any  difficulties  existed,  tried  to  obviate  them,  and 
sought  to  stir  up  parents  to  a  greater  interest  in  the 
education  of  their  children.  He  wrote  several  an 
nual  reports  of  the  committee,  in  which  the  state 
of  the  schools  was  set  forth  with  a  degree  of  plain 
ness  and  satire  quite  forcible  and  amusing. 

Temperance  continued  largely  to  occupy  his  at 
tention.  He  met  with  the  Sons  of  Temperance  in 
Augusta,  and  delivered  an  address  before  an  associa 
tion  of  that  name  in  Unity.  At  Bangor  he  gave  a 
lecture  before  its  Lyceum,  and  in  Hallowell  deliv 
ered  an  address  at  the  county  meeting  for  Cattle 
Show  and  Fair.  He  preached  occasionally  at  the 
Poor-house,  and  at  the  Hospital  for  the  Insane ;  he 
attended  once  a  fortnight,  as  was  always  his  habit, 
the  Utilitarian  Society,  an  industrial  association  of 
ladies  of  his  parish.  In  August  he  met  with  other 
clergymen  at  Belfast,  for  the  ordination  of  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Niles ;  and,  a  few  days  afterwards,  was  called 
to  the  same  place,  to  preach  a  funeral  sermon  on  the 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  211 

death  of  him  whom  he  had  just  assisted  to  install  as 
a  minister  of  the  gospel. 

"  Philo  "  was  farther  prosecuted  in  the  first  part 
of  this  year.  In  the  month  of  June  his  second 
daughter  was  born.  In  August  he  commenced  the 
revision  of  "  Margaret "  for  a  new  edition. 

The  war  with  Mexico,  which  was  going  on  this 
year,  so  totally  opposed  to  Mr.  Judd's  principles  in 
general,  and  to  his  sense  of  right  in  this  case  in  par 
ticular,  took  a  deep  hold  of  his  feelings,  and  entered 
largely  into  his  public  ministrations.  And,  when  the 
annual  Thanksgiving  occurred,  so  fully  was  his  mind 
impressed  with  the  horrors  of  this  war,  and  its 
attendant  train  of  evils,  — 

"  Cross  battering  cross  on  heights  of  Monterey ; 

the  rupturing 

Of  ties  that  should  all  nations  interlace ; 

The  thrusting  in  of  ages  right  in  front 

Of  progress,  long  step  backward  of  all  good,"  — 

that  he  could  not  summon  his  feelings  to  utter  the 
voice  of  joy  and  thanksgiving  on  that  day  before  his 
people.  In  his  prayer,  unaffected  contrition  in  behalf 
of  the  nation  fell  from  his  lips,  and  deprecations  of 
justly-merited  national  punishment  found  an  earnest 
voice.  On  rising  at  the  usual  time  for  sermon,  he 
opened  the  Bible  at  the  Lamentations  of  Jeremiah ; 
and  then,  with  paleness  of  face  and  trembling  voice, 
he  uttered  with  deep  pathos  the  moanings  of  the  old 
prophet  over  the  sins  and  desolations  of  his  beloved 
country,  and  then  dismissed  the  congregation. 

Some,  even  of  his  own  people,  regarded  the  ser 
vices  merely  as  a  very  good  joke  ;  some  were  almost 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

offended  that  he  gave  them  no  better  treat  on  that 
day  of  their  rejoicing.  The  newspapers  very  exten 
sively  told  the  story ;  and,  in  their  comments,  some 
approved,  and  others  regarded  it  as  oddity,  affecta 
tion,  or  desire  for  notoriety.  But  few  understood 
just  how  the  matter  lay  in  his  own  mind,  and  what 
moral  necessity  there  was  in  his  own  bosom,  forcing 
him  to  give  the  tone  he  did  to  the  services  of  the 
day.  He  also  omitted  to  read  the  Governor's  pro 
clamation,  because  he  thought  it  contained  an  unau 
thorized  prescription  to  clergymen  as  to  what  they 
should  preach  in  their  own  pulpits. 

What  leisure  he  could  find  amid  the  many  other 
engagements  of  this  year  was  spent  in  exploring  the 
neighboring  woods  for  trees  suited  to  carry  out  his 
plan  for  the  embellishment  of  his  grounds,  and  in 
transplanting  them  to  their  appointed  places.  Almost 
every  variety  of  forest-tree  in  the  vicinity  was  laid 
under  contribution  for  this  purpose  ;  and  he  sent  to 
his  father  to  procure  him  seeds  of  such  as  were  not 
found  about  him,  on  which  he  wished  to  experiment 
by  way  of  cultivation. 

1848. 

In  1848,  Mr.  Judd's  invitations  to  lecture  abroad 
before  lyceums  and  other  societies  very  much  in 
creased  ;  and  compliance  with  them  added  to  the 
multifarious  labors  he  had  already  on  hand.  The 
Fourth  of  July,  he  delivered  an  address  before  the 
common-school  celebration  at  Gardiner.  In  August 
he  addressed  the  literary  societies  of  Waterville 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  £13 

College  on  the  subject,  "  Christ  and  the  Scholar,  or 
what  Christianity  is  to  the  Scholar." 

The  bereavement  suffered  by  a  favorite  aunt  on 
the  removal  of  her  only  remaining  child,  a  daughter, 
in  the  spring-time  of  life,  called  forth  the  following 
letter  of  condolence  :  — 

To  MRS.  S.  J.  H. 

"AUGUSTA,  Feb.  28,  1848. 

"  My  dear  Aunt,  —  I  have  learned  with  great  con 
cern  of  the  death  of  S.  Such  an  event,  while  it  may 
sometimes  have  been  present  to  your  imagination, 
could  not,  I  am  sure,  at  so  early  a  period,  have  been 
anticipated.  Your  cup  of  sorrow,  already  full,  must 
now,  indeed,  overflow.  ~W.,  in  the  flower  of  his  youth, 
was  snatched  from  you  ;  and  now  your  only  remain 
ing  child  has  followed.  I  can  just  remember  being 
present  at  your  marriage.  I  can  remember  then,  a 
very  little  boy,  riding  with  you  and  uncle  H.  to  North 
ampton.  I  remember  seeing  Governor  Strong,  who 
called  me  to  his  garden,  and  gave  me  some  peaches. 

"  But  these  things  are  past ;  they  hover  as  shadows 
among  the  dreams  of  my  childhood.  Eventful,  in 
deed,  has  been  your  experience  since  those  days. 
Time  has  hastened  swiftly  by :  you  are  now  mother 
less,  and  you  weep  by  the  graves  of  the  past.  Your 
own  sunshine  has  been  flecked  by  many  a  cloud. 

"  God  help  and  comfort  you  !  Though  you  walk 
through  a  valley  of  shadows,  may  you  be  enabled  to 
trust  in  Him  with  whom  are  the  issues  of  our  days  ! 
God  have  us  all  in  his  keeping,  even  until  our 
appointed  time  shall  come  ! 

"Your  ever-affectionate  nephew." 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 


In  the  trial  and  condemnation  of  Dr.  Coolidge  for 
murder,  which  took  place  in  Augusta  in  March,  he 
took  a  keen  interest  ;  and  it  was  the  occasion  of 
developing  more  fully  his  views  on  capital  punish 
ment  and  the  treatment  of  prisoners.  He  visited 
the  condemned  man  in  his  cell,  and  strove  to  impart 
such  support  as  he  might  in  the  awful  moment  of 
condemnation.  The  sabbath  which  followed  the 
rendering  of  the  verdict,  he  preached  a  most  touch 
ing  discourse  from  the  text,  "  Let  the  sighing  of  the 
prisoner  come  before  thee  ;  according  to  the  greatness 
of  thy  power,  preserve  thou  those  that  are  appointed 
to  die."  In  various  ways,  as  far  as  was  in  his 
power,  he  sought  to  minister  to  the  moral  and  reli 
gious  welfare  of  the  wretched  man,  until  he  was 
transferred  to  the  State's  prison. 

In  the  beginning  of  this  year,  "  Philo  "  was  again 
prosecuted  with  a  good  deal  of  assiduity,  and  was 
completed  for  the  press  in  March. 

About  the  same  time,  Mr.  Judd  learned,  with 
great  pleasure,  of  the  illustration  of  "  Margaret  "  in 
a  series  of  outline  sketches  by  Mr.  Darley,  of  New 
York,  and,  through  the  kindness  of  the  artist,  was 
favored  with  the  loan  of  the  portfolio  containing 
them.  These,  of  course,  he  examined  with  avidity, 
and  found  great  satisfaction  in  seeing  his  own  ideals 
delineated  with  so  much  force,  and,  in  general,  with 
such  truth  to  his  own  conceptions.  This  was  a 
stimulus  and  encouragement  to  the  further  prosecu 
tion  of  his  literary  labors.  He  also  looked  forward 
with  impatient  desire  to  the  publication  of  these 
sketches. 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

Mr.  Judd  had  been  aiming  steadily,  from  his  first 
settlement  in  Augusta,  to  bring  his  whole  congrega 
tion  up  to  the  true  standard  of  spiritual  life.  It  had 
grieved  him  that  so  few  joined  in  the  communion, 
and  that  there  was  so  great  neglect,  on  the  part  of 
parents,  to  bring  their  children  to  baptism.  About 
this  time,  however,  he  commenced  a  course  of  labor 
with  reference  to  these  subjects  more  exclusive  and 
systematic.  He  directed  his  attention  more  particu 
larly,  at  first,  to  the  latter  ordinance.  He  talked 
about  it  with  indivichials  personally,  and  alluded  to  it 
often  from  the  pulpit.  He  was  successful  in  moving 
the  hearts  of  parents  in  this  matter,  and  of  many 
adults  who  had  not  received  baptism  ;  and  the  sab 
bath  of  June  11  he  appointed  for  the  administration 
of  the  ordinance  to  all  such  in  the  congregation  as 
were  willing  to  come  forward  for  the  purpose.  On 
this  day,  he  made  a  strong  appeal  upon  the  subject 
to  his  hearers  ;  and  then,  with  fearful  heart,  lest 
many  of  his  beloved  ones  should  still  withhold 
themselves  or  their  children,  he  invited  all  who  had 
not  received  baptism  to  present  themselves.  As  he 
saw  heads  of  families,  one  after  another,  stepping 
into  the  aisles,  and  drawing  near  the  altar  with  their 
groups  of  children,  and  some  adults  coming  forth 
alone,  his  heart  was  almost  too  deeply  moved  to 
utter  its  burden  of  joy  and  thanks,  and  implore 
appropriate  blessings  on  those  about  to  receive  the 
seal  of  oneness  with  the  visible  church,  and,  as  he 
hoped,  with  the  great  church,  invisible  and  catholic, 
throughout  heaven  and  earth.  And,  when  he  de 
scended  from  the  pulpit  to  the  baptismal  basin,  and 


216  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

proceeded  to  baptize  "  in  the  name  of  the  Father, 
and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost,"  —  in  some 
instances,  first  a  parent  and  then  the  children,  and, 
last  of  all,  his  own  little  ones,  the  weight  of  his 
emotions  almost  overpowered  him,  and  his  voice 
well  nigh  failed  in  pronouncing  the  many-times- 
repeated  formula.  Mr.  Judd  felt  that  a  good  work 
was  begun,  and  rejoiced  in  this  evidence  that  his 
labors  had  not  been  in  vain. 

The  year  before,  the  Universalist  Society  united 
with  the  Unitarian,  at  their  church,  in  the  celebra 
tion  of  Christmas-eve  ;  and,  this  year,  Mr.  Judd's 
church,  agreeably  to  an  arrangement  then  made,  and 
reciprocating  the  service,  joined  them  in  their  obser 
vance  of  the  evening. 

1849. 

In  April  of  the  following  year,  1849,  the  two 
churches  above  referred  to  united  in  several  social 
religious  meetings,  at  their  respective  places  of  wor 
ship,  which  they  found  both  interesting  and  profit 
able. 

The  following  letter  Mr.  Judd  addressed  to  a 
young  lady  of  his  church :  — 

"  CHKIST  CHURCH  PARSONAGE,  May  10,  1849. 

"  Dear  Jv  —  I  cannot  say  how  deeply,  how  so 
lemnly,  how  gladly,  your  note  of  a  few  days  since 
affected  me.  Your  heart  seemed  to  be  speaking  to 
me,  and  my  own  heart  was  touched.  How  I  live 
amongst  my  people,  and  yet  seem  to  know  but  little 
of  them  !  Yet  I  do  know  a  great  deal  of  them,  more 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

than  they  think  I  do.  The  trouble  is,  they  do  not 
all  speak  so  freely  to  me  as  you  do  (in  your  note). 
They  say  they  are  afraid  of  me,  and  all  that.  You 
try  to  be  good,  I  know  you  do ;  you  seek  for  a  con 
formity  with  what  is  divine,  pure,  and  beautiful : 
may  you  be  aided  in  all  your  exertions !  What  is 
good  is  beautiful,  and  a  tender  sensibility  to  the 
beautiful  is  one  method  of  becoming  good. 

"  You  have  trials  too.  You  seem  to  me  too  young, 
too  innocent,  too  fortunate,  for  trials.  That  shadows 
should  fall  on  your  path,  that  so  soon  you  should 
begin  to  think  of  mysteries,  and  be  wetted  with 
tears,  is  what  I  should  not  anticipate.  But  so  it  is, 
so  it  too  often  is.  God  preserve  you  in  all  you  have 
to  endure !  Cast  your  cares  upon  him,  for  he  careth 
for  you.  I  have  my  trials  too,  my  sorrows,  my 
unavailing  woes.  You  and  I,  and  all  of  us,  need  a 
divine  strength,  —  need  the  infinite  love  of  the  infi 
nite  Father. 

"  I  do  not  think  it  well  to  dwell  too  much  on  our 
sins.  I  would  repent  of  them,  I  would  view  them 
in  their  just  wickedness,  I  would  pray  God  to  forgive 
them ;  but  to  have  them  perpetually  near,  to  have 
them  fill  the  imagination,  and  to  tyrannize  over  the 
memory,  is  not  well.  Rather  turn  to  what  is  ele 
vating,  cheerful,  hopeful.  We  should  be  like  travel 
lers,  rather  advancing  towards  the  bright  hills,  than 
stopping  to  reflect  on  the  obstacles  we  have  met. 

"  Yet  bear  your  cross  bravely,  it  must  be  borne  ; 
every  day  it  reappears,  Jesus'  cross,  he  bore  it  for 
you  ;  bear  it  for  your  own  soul  and  for  the  world. 
It  will  grow  lighter ;  by  and  by  it  will  sit  your 

19 


218  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

shoulders  well ;  gradually  it  will  change  its  shape 
and  its  office,  and  then  it  will  become  a  crown. 

"  All  sweetness,  peace,  and  holy  serenity,  be  yours, 
through  Jesus,  the  blessed  One  !  —  so  prays 
"  Your  affectionate  friend  and  pastor, 

"  SYLVESTER  JUDD." 

In  his  regular  ministrations,  Mr.  Judd  gave  his 
people  a  sermon  in  July,  entitled  "  The  Commu 
nion  for  Sinners."  In  this,  he  takes  the  position, 
that  Christ  lived,  labored,  and  died,  for  the  cleans 
ing,  the  purgation,  of  the  human  race ;  that  the 
blood  of  Christ  stands  for  his  life,  and  his  life  is  his 
inward,  vital  energy,  the  yearnings  of  his  spirit,  the 
profundity  of  his  benevolence;  and  this  is  shed, 
poured  out,  lavished,  for  the  remission  of  sin. 

He  therefore  said,  "  To-day,  so  I  think,  to-day,  if 
any  of  you  have  regrets  for  the  past,  agitation  for  the 
present,  and  pious  purposes  for  the  future ;  to-day, 
if  any  one  of  you  would  be  cleansed  by  the  blood, 
quickened  by  the  life,  of  Christ ;  to-day,  if  you  would 
be  gathered  into  the  circle  of  the  divine  sympathies, 
of  which  Christ  is  the  centre,  —  if  you  would  enter 
the  communion  of  the  church  universal,  of  which 
Christ  is  the  head,  —  you  may  partake." 

For  three  or  four  years  after  settlement  at  Augusta, 
Mr.  Judd  regularly,  every  year,  paid  a  visit  to  the 
paternal  home.  But  at  length  the  pressure  of  en 
gagements,  and  the  economy  he  found  it  necessary 
to  practise,  rendered  his  visits  there  less  frequent. 
But,  in  the  summer  of  this  year,  he  made  a  journey 
thither. 

While  absent,  he  wrote  as  follows  — 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  219 

To  HIS  MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"  NORTHAMPTON,  June  5,  1849. 

"  Dear  Mother,  —  It  has  rained  every  day  but  one 
since  I  left  Augusta;  though,  on  the  whole,  there 
has  been  much  good  weather.  The  grass  is  fine, 
and  the  world  of  vegetation  is  coming  out  in  great 
glory.  What  beauty  there  is  in  this  valley  of  the 
Connecticut,  and  particularly  in  this  portion  of  it! 
So  deep,  so  rich,  so  magnificent,  a  beauty,  I  never 
beheld.  It  seems  more  like  our  ideas  of  the  tropical 
regions.  When  I  walk  out,  I  seem  not  to  be  walk 
ing,  but  wading,  in  the  midst  of  beauty,  with  seas  of 
it  about  me,  and  waves  of  it  rising  above  me.  The 
shrubbery  here,  the  gardens,  the  shade-trees,  the 
walks,  are  unsurpassed.  I  am  amidst  the  scenes  of 
my  youth;  and  there  are  many  changes.  The 
change  is  great  in  the  material  world :  it  is  greater 
in  the  human  world.  My  early  friends  are  all  gone, 
elderly  people  that  I  used  to  know  are  dead,  and 
those  whom  I  meet  'know  not  Joseph.' 

"  I  have  been  into  the  graveyard.  There  are  the 
old  familiar  names  ;  there  are  recalled  the  old  familiar 
faces ;  there,  in  that  silence,  is  clustered  much  of 
what  was  once  life  to  me.  Amidst  the  beauty 
of  which  I  speak,  and  under  the  shadows  of  those 
grand  old  elms,  seem  to  me  to  move  unseen  spirits ; 
and  they  are  pervaded  with  the  recollection  of  a  past 
generation." 

1850. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1850,  Mr.  Judd  was 
called  to  experience  a  new  and  tender  sorrow,  in  the 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 


sundering  of  one  link  in  the  chain  which  had  so 
long,  unbroken,  bound  together  the  home-circle  of 
his  youth.  His  strong  family  attachments  have  been 
somewhat  developed  in  the  previous  pages.  And 
now  one  of  his  brothers  must  be  taken  from  his 
sensible  communion.  On  hearing  the  tidings  of 
immediate  danger,  he  hastened  on  to  have  one  more 
interview  ;  and,  if  it  must  be  so,  to  soothe  and  sustain 
the  parting  spirit.  But  he  was  too  late.  An  uncon 
scious,  insensible  form  was  all  that  remained,  over 
which,  with  all  the  susceptibility  of  childhood,  his 
sobs  and  tears  gushed  forth.  He,  however,  restrained 
his  emotions  sufficiently  to  perform,  with  tender 
love,  the  funeral  offices  of  his  dear  brother. 

Soon  after  his  return  to  Augusta  from  these 
solemn  obsequies,  he  preached  a  fraternal  sermon, 
touching  in  its  pathos,  on  "  The  Affection  of  Bro 
thers,"  from  the  text,  "And  Joseph  lifted  up  his 
eyes,  and  saw  his  brother  Benjamin,  his  mother's 
son,  and  said,  Is  this  your  younger  brother,  of  whom 
ye  spake  unto  me  ?  And  he  made  haste  ;  for  his 
bowels  did  yearn  upon  his  brother,  and  he  sought 
where  to  weep." 

In  May,  1850,  he  gave  a  sabbath  discourse  in  his 
church  on  "  The  True  Dignity  of  Politics,"  from  the 
text,  "  The  Lord  shall  be  for  a  spirit  of  judgment 
to  him  that  sitteth  in  judgment."  The  Legislature 
of  the  State  then  being  in  session,  a  large  number  of 
its  members  were  present. 

The  next  day,  he  received,  by  the  appropriate 
hands,  the  appended  communication  :  — 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 


"  STATE  or  MAINE,  HOUSE  OP  REPEESENTATIVES, 
May  2,  1850. 

"  Ordered,  that  a  committee  be  raised  to  wait  on 
Rev.  Mr.  Judd,  and  request  for  publication  a  copy 
of  his  sermon  delivered  last  evening,  at  Christ 
Church,  on  <  The  True  Dignity  of  Politics.'  " 

On  his  complying  with  this  request,  by  order  of 
the  House  a  thousand  copies  of  the  sermon  were 
printed  for  the  use  of  the  Legislature. 

On  the  Fourth  of  July  of  this  year,  Mr.  Judd 
delivered  an  oration  on  "Heroism,"  in  the  Court 
House  Square,  Augusta,  before  the  fire-clubs  of 
Augusta,  Hallowell,  Gardiner,  and  Pittston,  which 
was  published  by  request  of  the  audience. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  year,  "Philo,"  after  a 
delay  in  publication  of  two  years  from  the  time  of 
completion,  was  finally  issued  from  the  press. 

During  this  interval  between  the  finishing  and 
publishing  of  "  Philo,"  securing  the  time  for  it  no 
one  knows  when,  Mr.  Judd  had  brought  far  towards 
maturity  another  work,  entitled  "Richard  Edney." 
This  book  was  brought  out  the  same  year,  soon  after 
"Philo." 

To  a  young  boy  of  his  flock,  absent  at  school, 
whose  mind  was  led  to  a  particular  consideration  of 
religious  subjects,  he  addressed  the  letter  below  :  — 

"  AUGUSTA,  May  6,  1850. 

"  Dear  A.,  —  I  am  very  glad  to  hear,  that  you  are 
attentive  to  those  interests  which  are  of  the  highest 
consequence  to  every  human  being,  even  your  moral 
and  spiritual  culture.  "What  is  it  to  be  a  Christian  ? 
The  word  Christian  comes  from  the  word  Christ, 


222  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

and  signifies  one  who  is  like  Christ,  or  who  loves 
Christ,  and  is  willing  to  be  a  disciple  of  Christ. 
What  is  it  to  be  like  Christ  ?  It  is  to  endeavor  to 
feel  as  he  felt,  and  to  do  as  he  did.  Christ  is  our 
example,  and  we  are  to  walk  in  his  steps.  We  must 
endeavor  to  do  good,  to  cultivate  a  right  temper  and 
disposition.  'If  ye  love  one  another,'  the  Bible 
says,  'all  men  shall  know  ye  are  my  disciples.' 
'  The  fruits  of  the  spirit  are  love,  joy,  peace,  meek 
ness,  temperance,'  and  the  like.  If  you  would  know 
whether  you  are  a  Christian,  you  must  ask  yourself 
if  you  have  these  fruits.  Again,  the  Bible  says, 
'He  that  loveth  is  born  of  God,  and  knoweth  God.' 
If  you  would  know  whether  you  are  born  again,  you 
must  ask  yourself  if  you  have  Christian  love.  Do 
you  love  God  and  your  neighbor  ?  Do  you  try  to 
love  all  men  ?  Are  you  willing  to  do  good  to  those 
that  hate  you,  and  can  you  pray  for  those  that  de- 
spitefully  use  you  ?  If  so,  then  you  are  a  child  of 
God,  and  a  disciple  of  Christ. 

"  I  hope  and  pray  that  you  may  be  led  in  the 
right  way.  Avoid  that  which  is  evil,  and  cleave  to 
that  which  is  good.  Let  your  light  shine  among 
your  companions  and  in  your  school.  When  you 
are  engaged  in  plays  and  sports,  even  then  remem 
ber  that  you  are  God's  child,  and  that  you  may  do 
no  wrong.  Let  no  bad  word  escape  your  lips,  and 
no  wicked  feeling  arise  in  your  heart.  Trust  in 
God,  and  he  shall  keep  thee.  Read  your  Bible,  par 
ticularly  the  New  Testament,  and  see  what  Christ 
says,  and  what  Christ  would  have  you  do.  The  best 
sermon  that  was  ever  delivered  in  the  world  is  the 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 


Sermon  on  the  Mount.     Study  that.     Every  day,  in 
prayer,  ask  God  to  bless  you  and  to  keep  you. 

"  I  need  not  say  that  I  am  interested  for  you. 
All  the  little  ones  of  my  flock  are  very  near  my 
heart. 

"  That  you  may  be  happy  and  good,  and  grow  up 
a  worthy  Christian  man,  is  the  earnest  prayer  and 
wish  of  your  affectionate 

"  Friend  and  Pastor." 

An  old  tradition  of  the  Indians  had  suggested  to 
Mr.  Judd  the  plan  of  another  work,  in  a  poetical 
form,  the  main  scene  of  which  was  to  be  laid  at  the 
"White  Hills.  That  he  might  carry  out  this  purpose, 
he  felt  the  necessity  of  visiting  these  mountains. 
He  was  also  very  happy  to  be  able  to  make  a  little 
excursion,  such  as  his  means  had  never  before 
allowed  him  to  indulge  in. 

In  August  he  started  with  Mrs.  Judd,  and  first 
fulfilled  an  appointment  to  meet  his  college  class 
mates  on  the  classic  ground  of  his  alma  mater. 
Then,  passing  to  New  York,  he  luxuriated  in  the 
beautiful  scenery  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  wit 
nessed  the  fashion  and  frivolity  of  Saratoga,  kept 
sabbath  in  sight  of  the  quiet  waters  of  Lake  George, 
passed  over  the  smooth  bosom  of  Champlain  to  Bur 
lington,  and  thence,  amid  the  picturesque  views  of 
the  Green  Mountains,  proceeded  to  the  White 
Hills. 

The  new  work,  it  is  believed,  was  commenced 
soon  after  his  return. 


RESIDENCE   AT   AUGUSTA. 
1851. 

In  Mr.  Judd's  regular  sermon,  at  the  commence 
ment  of  this  new  year,  occur  the  paragraphs  follow 
ing  : — 

"  How,  withal,  our  years  grow  shorter !  How 
what  was  once  as  a  great,  overshadowing  expanse 
dwindles  away,  until  it  becomes,  like  the  little  cloud, 
no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand  ! 

"  1  feel  this  myself.  I  have  passed  through  the 
long  years  of  childhood,  and  the  less  long  years  of 
youth,  and  have  reached  what  may  be  termed  the 
middle-sized  years  of  middle  age ;  and  see  beyond, 
and  feel  myself  rapidly  approaching,  the  downward 
series,  where  our  days  drop  like  water  from  a 
height,  thinning  as  they  fall,  till  they  terminate  in 
the  merest  thread. 

"  Yet  I  sympathize,  and  will  sympathize,  with 
every  thing  beautiful,  every  thing  good,  every  thing 
joyous,  every  thing  useful,  in  the  world ;  and  to  the 
furtherance  and  increase  of  such  things  I  will  give 
what  of  ability  or  means  God  gives  me. 

"  Still,  too,  I  know  and  feel,  and  in  this  I  can  but 
share  the  common  sentiment  of  many  who  now  hear 
me,  that  these  things  must  end ;  that  I  am  hastening 
to  the  final  bourne,  to  death  and  the  judgment.  I 
am  sensible,  that,  even  if  I  should  live  as  many  years 
as  I  have  lived,  and  repeat  the  precise  number  of  my 
months,  that  the  remaining  portion  of  my  life  will 
seem  to  be  a  very  short  one.  There  will  not  be, 
either  for  me  or  for  you,  any  more  long  summer 
days,  any  more  long  winter  nights. 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  225 

"  Whatever,  however,  we  do,  how  many  of  us  are 
sufferers !  Many  a  mute  shadow  of  woe  passes  by 
us  at  these  times.  Many  a  phantom  of  hope  and 
love  is  recalled  on  New  Year.  There  are  some 
cold  firesides,  some  desolate  chambers.  In  the  night- 
wind  of  the  year  that  has  just  come  to  its  close,  you 
hear  many  a  farewell  voice.  New  mounds  rise  in 
our  graveyards,  new  monuments  in  our  memories  !  " 

January,  1851,  found  the  sabbath  school  in  rather 
a  declining  state,  both  as  to  numbers  and  interest. 
The  past  superintendent  had  become  discouraged, 
and  he  declined  further  service.  No  one  seemed 
willing  to  undertake  to  carry  it  on.  In  this  exigency, 
the  pastor,  rather  than  see  an  institution  on  which 
he  depended  so  much  go  down,  went  forward,  and 
added  the  care  of  this  to  his  other  engagements.  He 
declared  to  his  people  most  earnestly,  that,  as  long 
as  one  scholar  remained,  he  should  stand  by  and 
sustain  the  sabbath  school.  He  therefore  performed 
the  duties  of  superintendent  from  January  until 
November  of  this  year. 

With  his  people  at  large,  his  labors  were  persist 
ent  and  systematic  in  carrying  forward  what  had 
become  his  leading  idea,  that  the  pale  of  the  church 
should  be  so  far  drawn  back  as  to  include  the  whole 
people,  and  thus  become  a  bond  of  union  rather  than 
a  separating  barrier. 

With  this  aim,  he  this  year  went  quite  fully  into 
an  explanation  of  his  views.  In  March  he  preached 
upon  "The  Utility  of  the  Communion,"  from  the 
text,  "  What  mean  ye  by  this  service  ?  "  This  he 
explained,  not  as  necessary  to  salvation,  not  as  evi- 


RESIDENCE   AT    AUGUSTA. 


dence  of  any  marked  change  in  the  character  of  those 
who  partake  of  it  ;  but,  like  many  other  usages 
adopted  by  men,  as  a  sign  and  a  memorial. 

The  next  subject  in  course  was  the  consideration 
of  the  question,  "  What  is  the  Church  ?  "  As  simple 
tests  of  the  church,  he  mentioned,  that  it  is  the  pillar 
and  stay  of  the  truth  ;  that  Christ  is  its  head  ;  that 
it  teaches  the  method  of  salvation  by  Christ.  And 
by  these  tests  he  claimed  that  the  Unitarian  body  is 
the  church,  and  that  all  believers  in  Christ  were 
truly  in  the  church. 

This  was  followed  by  a  discourse,  the  object  of 
which  was  to  show  that  all  are  religiously  responsi 
ble  for  the  observance  of  Christ's  precepts,  he  who 
makes  no  public  profession  of  religion  as  well  as  he 
who  does  ;  and  that  all  are  equally  privileged  and 
equally  bound  to  obey  his  command,  "Do  this  in 
remembrance  of  me." 

Then  came  a  sermon  on  "  Birth  Relation  to  the 
Church,"  in  which  it  was  shown  that  we,  in  Christian 
lands,  are  as  truly  born  into  the  church  as  into  the 
family  or  the  state  ;  and  that  it  was  a  false  theology 
which  had  divorced  a  part  of  the  community  from  the 
Christian  church,  and  forbidden  its  most  prominent 
means  of  grace  to  a  large  portion. 

Again  he  considered  the  "  Inconsistent  Neglect  of 
the  Communion,"  showing  how  eagerly  people  would 
receive  other  proffered  goods  and  advantages,  what 
ever  would  minister  to  their  interests  ;  but,  when  it 
came  to  the  memorial  fitted  to  make  upon  their 
hearts  the  deepest  impression  of  what  is  life  to  their 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 


own  souls,  through  a  mistaken  idea  they  would  turn 
their  back  upon  it. 

In  another  sermon  he  dwelt  largely  upon  "Lay 
Co-operation  "  in  connection  with  carrying  forward 
the  great  objects  of  the  gospel. 

He  gave  a  sermon  expressly  to  Sunday-school 
teachers,  and  one  to  children,  on  their  relation  to 
these  subjects. 

In  one  sermon  he  took  pains  to  explain  what  he 
considered  Unitarianism  to  be,  and  the  advantages  it 
claims.  In  another,  considering  Christianity  as  best 
adapted  to  promote  the  highest  interests  of  the 
human  race,  he  enforced  the  duty  of  spreading  it. 

In  the  value  of  the  noted  temperance-law  of 
Maine,  as  a  remedy  for  the  evils  it  was  enacted  to 
suppress,  Mr.  Judd  had  no  confidence.  Before  the 
passage  of  the  law,  in  June  of  this  year,  and  while 
the  subject  was  being  agitated,  he  delivered  a  dis 
course  bearing  upon  the  matter  from  the  text,  "  They 
were  not  able  to  resist  the  spirit  and  power  by  which 
he  spake"  He  maintained  that  a  combination  of  all 
the  means,  motives,  and  influences  by  which  the 
human  mind  and  heart  can  be  affected,  brought  to 
bear  upon  the  subject,  would  supersede  and  exclude 
the  idea  of  physical  force,  which,  he  claimed,  ever 
fails  to  affect  the  mind  and  heart  of  man  ;  that  men 
should  be  treated  as  rational  and  intelligent  beings, 
not  as  brute  beasts  ;  that  the  former  course  pene 
trates  and  subdues,  the  latter  evokes  anger  and 
opposition. 

In  July,  1851,  Mr.  Judd  was  invited  by  the 
newly  formed  Unitarian  Church  in  Brooklyn,  L.  L, 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

where  a  brother  was  residing,  to  supply  their  desk 
for  a  few  sabbaths.  Much  of  the  time,  during 
his  stay  of  two  or  three  weeks,  was  spent  in  the 
neighboring  city  of  New  York,  about  which  he 
moved,  exercising  his  usual  habit  of  keen,  philoso 
phic,  reflective  observation.  Nothing  in  this  great 
Babel  of  contrasts  and  varieties  escaped  his  remark, 
or  failed  to  call  forth  his  thought.  He  visited  the 
opera,  and  the  newly-arrived  emigrant-ship ;  gal 
leries  of  paintings,  and  cellars  and  stalls  of  old 
books  ;  artists'  studios,  and  shops  of  glass-stainers  ; 
looked  in  upon  gorgeous  churches,  and  upon  the 
wretched  abodes  of  poverty  and  squalidness.  He 
had  the  pleasure  of  examining  many  valuable  paint 
ings,  and  some  originals  of  the  old  masters,  at 
private  residences. 

He  joined  the  Universalist  Sunday-schools  of  New 
York  in  an  excursion  to  Biddle's  Grove,  and  very 
much  enjoyed  the  beautiful  scenery  of  the  spot,  and 
the  happy  influences  of  the  festive  gathering. 

The  change  which  this  little  journey  and  visit 
afforded  in  his  usually  quiet  and  studious  life  was 
quite  agreeable,  though  the  city  offered,  in  the  main, 
few  attractions  to  draw  him  from  his  peaceful,  rural 
home.  But  he  returned  with  his  mind  enriched 
with  many  fresh  thoughts  and  new  images  to  sub 
serve  his  ministerial  labors  and  literary  studies. 

On  his  arrival,  he  found  that  a  beloved  sister-in- 
law— -  one  most  lovely  in  her  character,  and  but 
recently  a  wife  and  mother  —  had,  in  his  absence, 
passed  from  the  sphere  of  earthly  communion,  in  a 
manner  too  sudden  to  afford  opportunity  of  his  learn- 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  229 

ing  her  danger.  Moved  with  tender  sorrow  at  this 
loss,  and  his  mind  glowing  with  the  pictured  forms 
he  had  so  lately  viewed,  he  composed,  for  the  follow 
ing  sabbath,  a  beautiful  and  consolatory  sermon  from 
the  words,  "And  they  saw  his  face  as  it  had  been 
the  face  of  an  angel."  He  spoke  of  the  lovely 
"  Madonna  face  ; "  of  the  place  it  holds  in  the  heart 
of  the  Roman  Catholic  ;  of  its  soothing,  prompting 
influence  upon  him,  and  the  more  than  angel-power 
with  which  it  comes  to  him.  He  alluded  delicately, 
but  remotely,  to  the  loveliness  and  Madonna-like 
serenity  of  the  departed,  and  to  the  aureola  with 
which  death  crowns  all  the  loved  and  lost ;  in  a 
touching  and  soothing  manner,  he  adverted  to  the 
blessed  influences  which  the  memory  of  those  lost  to 
sight  may  still  exert  upon  fond  ones  left  behind  ;  and 
showed  how  here  and  there,  in  many  a  seemingly 
desolated  dwelling,  might  be  beaming  forth  upon  its 
occupants,  as  it  were,  the  face  of  an  angel. 

Having  always  felt,  in  the  highest  degree,  the 
advantages  of  religious  and  social  intercourse,  and 
of  rural  festivals,  from  the  first  plan  of  a  railroad 
connecting  Augusta  with  other  towns  in  the  State, 
adjacent  and  remote,  Mr.  Judd  had  watched  its  pro 
gress  with  the  keenest  interest,  in  reference  to  its 
facilitating  these  objects.  He  had  conceived  the 
plan  of  having  sabbath-schools  of  different  churches, 
within  such  distances  as  to  render  it  practicable, 
gathered  together  once  a  year  in  the  open  air,  under 
forest-shade,  for  the  formation  of  acquaintance,  the 
exchange  of  friendly  greetings,  the  inculcation  of 
the  idea  that  all  are  one  in  the  general  church  of 

20 


230  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

Christ,  and  the  indulgence  of  recreation  and  inno 
cent  amusements. 

"With  this  end  in  view,  and  also  that  he  might 
have  a  rural  place  of  gathering  consecrated  for  the  use 
of  his  own  sabbath  school,  he  selected  a  pine-grove 
on  the  "  Malta  Hill "  eminence,  the  region  which 
had  always  been  with  him  a  place  of  favorite  resort. 
Here  he  went  forward  in  clearing  up  the  underbrush, 
in  constructing  a  rude  rostrum  for  speakers,  and  cir 
cular  seats  around  for  hearers.  Ample  space  was 
made  for  the  setting  of  tables,  and  for  various 
amusements.  In  September  of  this  year,  he  ap 
pointed  a  meeting,  at  the  spot,  of  his  own  sabbath 
school  and  congregation,  where  he  preached  a  ser 
mon,  and  dedicated  the  place  under  the  name  of 
Greenwood  Church. 

He  consecrated  the  place  to  the  advancement  of 
the  children  in  Christian  knowledge  and  practice ; 
dedicated  it  to  the  love  of  the  beautiful,  —  the  gar 
ment  with  which  God  clothes  his  works,  and  a 
vitality  with  which  he  inspires  his  rational  offspring. 
He  recognized  it  as  one  of  the  original  temples  of 
God,  and  consecrated  it  to  him  as  a  rural  sanctuary. 
"  Adam  and  Eve,"  said  he,  "  first  worshipped  in  the 
woods,  that  is,  among  the  trees  of  the  garden.  Their 
sermons  were  delivered  in  the  murmur  of  the  brooks 
Pison  and  Havilah.  Their  organ  was  the  piping  of 
the  winds,  their  choir  was  the  birds  of  Paradise." 

Mr.  Judd  was  in  the  way  of  noticing  from  time 
to  time,  in  an  anniversary  sermon,  his  ordination. 
The  extracts  following  are  from  a  sermon  preached 
Oct.  5,  1851,  from  the  text,  "We  preach  Christ, 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  £31 

warning  every  man  and  teaching  every  man  in  all 
wisdom,  that  we  may  present  every  man  perfect  in 
Christ  Jesus  :  "  — 

"  It  is  eleven  years  since  I  was  ordained  to  the 
sacred  ministry  and  instituted  to  the  church  of  Christ 
in  this  place.  As  the  times  go,  this  is  a  long  minis 
try.  I  have  seen  changes  in  every  other  parish  in 
the  city ;  in  some  instances,  several.  There  is  not 
an  officiating  clergyman  in  town  who  was  here  when 
I  was  settled. 

"  There  have  been  changes  in  the  church ;  changes 
by  addition  and  by  removal ;  changes,  many  and  sad, 
by  death;  and,  what  is  perhaps  sometimes  more 
painful,  changes  by  ingratitude,  indifference,  vanity, 
and  worldliness  of  mind.  There  have  been  changes 
wrought  simply  by  time :  babes  have  become  youths ; 
youths  have  mounted  to  manhood  and  womanhood ; 
wives  have  become  widows ;  and  children,  orphans. 

"  Amidst  all  the  changes  that  we  might  note,  in 
the  period  of  time  referred  to,  I  sometimes  think,  — 
I  know  not  whether  it  be  a  commendation  or  other 
wise,  —  that  I  have  changed  as  little  as  anybody. 
As  to  my  manner  of  life,  and  purpose  of  heart,  and 
principles  of  truth,  I  believe  no  one  can  accuse  me 
of  change.  I  have  differed  with  persons,  perhaps 
wiser  and  better  than  I ;  I  have  not  often  differed 
with  myself,  as  I  should  hope  never  to  with  Jesus.  I 
think  I  am  safe  in  asserting  this,  —  that  I  have  been 
amongst  you  such  an  one  as  this  might  be  said  of, 
'  You  always  know  where  to  find  him.'  The  first 
year  of  my  ministry,  as  to  its  general  drift  and  bear 
ing,  was  a  pretty  fair  index  to  what  the  whole  has 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

been.  God  had  thoroughly  indoctrinated  me  in  the 
great  truth  of  Christ  and  the  church,  peace,  temper 
ance,  recreation,  human  nature,  human  duty,  human 
destiny,  before  my  settlement ;  and  I  have  only  had 
occasion  to  mature,  improve  upon,  and  apply  these 
views  since. 

"  By  bringing  me  to  Unitarianism,  God  unsealed 
my  eyes ;  he  led  me  to  a  world  of  truth,  before  hid 
den  ;  he  flooded  my  mind  with  blessed  revelations 
of  himself,  and  Christ,  and  man ;  and,  unless  I  were 
traitor  to  God,  love,  and  my  convictions  and  con 
science,  I  could  not  but  preach  and  do  as  I  have. 

"  It  is  not  my  purpose  at  this  moment  to  speak  of 
personal  or  local  affairs,  except  to  remark  that  eleven 
years  of  labor  among  a  people,  if  nothing  else,  at 
least  involves  a  minister  in  peculiar,  interesting,  and 
solemn  relations  to  them,  and,  conversely,  them  to 
him.  So  much  church  and  Christian  labor  with  a  peo 
ple  establishes  this  fact,  at  least  in  their  history,  that 
they  are  all  bound  to  the  church  and  to  Christianity. 
Would  I  have  preached  and  prayed  here  for  eleven 
years,  —  would  I  for  one  year,  for  one  month,  with 
the  consciousness  that  nine-tenths  of  the  parish  were 
under  no  sort  of  obligations  to  religion,  or  to  Chris 
tianity,  or  to  the  church,  or  to  the  pastor,  who 
in  a  sense  represents  all  these?  Have  I  baptized 
these  children ;  have  I  followed  them  onward  into 
youth ;  have  I  been  throwing,  so  to  say,  my  parental 
arms  about  them,  and  shedding  my  parental  heart 
over  them  ;  and  are  they  imagining  they  have  nothing 
to  do  with  religion,  or  the  church,  or  God,  in  whose 
name  I  have  acted,  and  whose  spirit  has  ever  been, 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 


or  ought  even  to  have  been,  working  through  me  ? 
Nay,  these  children  are  in  a  sense  my  children,  and 
mine  simply  as  pastor  of  Christ  Church,  and  of  course 
they  are  children  of  the  church.  And  this  obliga 
tion,  my  friends,  of  at  least  eleven  years'  growth  as 
regards  many  of  you,  is  waxing  stronger  and  stronger 
every  year.  No  matter  who  may  be  pastor  of  this 
church,  whether  I  or  some  other  man,  you  cannot 
get  rid  of  this  obligation,  except  by  a  species  of  un 
heard  of  self-excision,  by  putting  yourselves,  so  to 
say,  out  of  the  world.  This  obligation  is  in  every 
sermon  you  hear,  it  is  in  every  sabbath  that  comes 
over  you,  it  is  in  the  very  soil  you  tread  upon.  No  : 
to  get  rid  of  this  highest,  most  personal,  most  vital 
church  and  Christian  obligation,  you  must  become 
expatriate  in  your  native  land,  an  excommunicant  in 
your  native  church. 

"  I  have  endeavored,  and  I  think  you  will  all  bear 
witness  to  the  sincerity  of  that  endeavor,  —  I  have 
endeavored,  I  say,  in  the  language  of  the  text,  to 
preach  Christ.  Nor  do  I  make  boast,  but  only  refer 
to  it  as  a  simple  matter  of  fact,  when  I  express  it  as 
my  sober  belief,  that,  for  the  past  eleven  years,  Christ 
has  been  more  preached  in  this  pulpit  than  in  any 
other  in  the  city ;  that  more  sermons  have  been 
formed  on  a  basis  of  simple  reference  to  Christ,  and 
Christ  has  gone  into  the  staple  of  more  sermons  in 
this  pulpit,  than  in  any  other  in  this  city." 

In  conclusion,  he  says  :  "  May  I  not  bespeak,  on 
your  part,  a  stronger,  more  sedulous  attention  to  the 
great  things  of  which  we  treat  ?  Have  I  not  fairly 
laid  open  to  you  the  matter  of  the  church,  the  mat- 

20* 


234  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

ter  of  human  nature,  of  human  duty  ?  have  I  not 
fairly  stated  the  important  topics  on  which  from  time 
to  time  I  have  discoursed  ?  If  ye  are  wise  men,  will 
ye  not  judge  wisely  and  act  wisely  ? 

"  This  is  a  sort  of  anniversary  sermon.  I  ought 
perhaps  to  have  preached  more  such.  As  long  as  I 
continue  here,  I  shall  intend  to  preach  such.  Ele 
ven  years !  How  quickly  they  have  flown !  It 
seems  but  yesterday ;  it  was  a  darker  autumnal  day 
than  this ;  we  were  assembled  here  for  the  ordina 
tion  of  your  new  minister.  It  was  a  day,  to  my 
own  heart,  full  of  hope,  full  too  of  concern.  The 
years  have  hasted  away,  and  are  hasting.  What 
men,  what  women,  what  children,  will  we  be  ?  Shall 
no  new  life  be  kindled,  no  new  altar -fires  burn? 
Shall  death,  judgment,  and  eternity  hurry  on,  and 
we  be  no  better,  no  purer  ? 

"Is  there  one  of  these  children,  now  maturing  in 
my  eye  and  blooming  to  my  thought,  whom  I  can 
not,  by  and  by,  call  my  child  ?  There  are  bereave 
ments  in  this  world,  my  friends,  almost  as  bitter  as 
those  of  death. 

"  And  more :  will  not  all  these  children,  these 
young  men,  and  young  women,  fulfil  my  own,  as  it 
were  the  anxious  hopes  of  a  parent  ?  will  they  not 
give  themselves  to  Jesus  ?  will  they  not  covenant 
with  his  church  ?  will  they  not  grow  up  sons  and 
daughters  of  righteousness  for  ever  ? 

"  I  have  been  here  long  enough  to  see  changes,  I 
say ;  and  among  them  have  been  the  removal  of  our 
youths,  by  marriage,  for  business,  or  whatever  the 
cause  may  have  been.  Others  still  are  going  off. 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  235 

Will  the  young  man  who  leaves  us,  who  goes  to  dis 
tant  countries,  whose  home  shall  be  on  the  wide  sea, 
—  will  that  young  man  remember  us,  and  the  hearts 
that  love  him,  and  the  church  that  prays  for  him  ? 
and  will  he  not  suffer  the  good  seed  that  has  been 
sowing  these  many  years  in  his  soul  to  spring  up 
to  his  everlasting  life  ?  " 

On  Christmas  occasion,  this  year,  he  discoursed  on 
the  jubilant  element,  —  the  susceptibility  of  deep, 
strong  joy,  —  as  a  primitive  and  an  eternal  condition 
of  our  nature.  He  referred  to  the  social  element  of 
happiness,  and  to  the  sad  abuse  of  festivals  and  holi 
days  ;  but  maintained  the  necessity  of  our  natures  for 
something  of  the  kind,  and  expressed  the  belief  that 
recreative  pleasures,  on  a  large  and  general  scale, 
are  not  unfavorable  to  morality. 

On  this  same  Christmas-day,  —  while  he  and  his 
household  were  spending  the   day  from  home  with 
family-friends,  —  quite  unknown  and  unsuspected  by 
him,  his   people  were  testifying  their  kind  regard 
by  erecting   a  Christmas-tree,  and  loading  it  with 
their  diverse  offerings  for  himself,  his  wife,  and  his 
little  children,  and  spreading  his  board  with  a  liberal 
entertainment.     As  nightfall  came  on,  and  he  with 
his  family  were  expected  to  come  home,  they  illu 
mined  his  house,  and  made  ready  to  receive  him. 
The  surprise  on  his  part  was  complete  ;  and,  for  a 
moment,  he   did  not  know  how  to  understand  it. 
His  heart  was  deeply  touched.     After  the  festivities 
of  the  evening  were  mainly  passed,  and  before  the 
company  separated,  he  poured  out  his  grateful  thanks 


236  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

to  these  kind  friends,  and  expressed  the  sense  of 
stronger  union  to  his  people,  and  greater  security 
of  their  co-operation,  heart  and  soul,  with  him,  than 
he  had  ever  before  experienced.  It  was  with  him 
an  hour  of  deep  and  tender  joy. 

He  wrote  as  follows  to  young  ladies  of  his  charge, 
away  at  school :  — 

"  AUGUSTA,  Feb.  7,  1861. 

"  My  dear  A.,  A.,  and  C.,  —  I  often  think  of  the 
absent  members  of  my  flock,  and  am  sincerely  desi 
rous  of  your  peace,  purity,  and  happiness.  I  am 
sometimes  solicitous  about  you,  particularly  such  as 
are  young  and  inexperienced.  I  know  you  have 
trials,  and  that  you  must  encounter  many  disappoint 
ments.  My  wish  is  that  you  may  have  strength  to 
endure  all  that  shall  be  appointed  unto  you. 

"  Allow  me  to  say  a  few  direct  words.  Be  faith 
ful  to  your  studies.  Do  not  misspend  your  time. 
Remember  that  these  years  of  your  youth  are  both 
fleeting  and  precious. 

"  Be  faithful  to  your  own  tempers  and  dispositions. 
Banish  envy  and  prejudice.  Do  not  suffer  yourselves 
to  repine,  if  in  any  thing  others  excel  you. 

"  Be  faithful  to  your  religious  duties.  Read  the 
New  Testament  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus 
Christ.  Do  not  forget  that  you  are  the  children  of 
God,  and  that  you  ever  owe  your  heavenly  Father 
your  supreme  love  and  obedience.  Cultivate  the 
habit  of  prayer.  Bear  in  mind  that  the  Bible  is 
your  creed,  and  the  words  of  Jesus  your  counsellor 
and  director.  Particularly  take  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount ;  read  that,  ponder  on  its  meaning,  drink  in 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  237 

its  spirit,  make  it  your  guide  and  comforter.  Re 
member  that  you  are  to  reject  all  human  creeds,  and 
to  rely  on  Christ's  words  alone. 

"  If  you  are  in  darkness,  doubt,  and  despondency, 
apply  to  your  own  hearts  the  blessed  promises  of 
Jesus.  If  you  are  weary  and  heavy-laden,  go  to 
him,  and  he  will  comfort  you.  Feel  evermore  your 
nearness  to  God,  and  repose  implicitly  on  your 
heavenly  Father's  love. 

"  I  know  you  will  miss  home,  and  your  old  friends, 
and  these  Augusta  streets  and  houses.  But  remain 
patiently  and  improvingly  where  you  are,  and  by 
and  by  you  will  be  ready  to  come  back  again.  "We 
shall  be  glad  to  see  you  when  you  do  return. 

"  I  wish  each  of  you,  or  all  of  you  together, 
would  write  me.  Receive  these  few  words  from  the 
kindness  and  affection  of 

"  Your  Friend  and  Pastor, 

"  SYLVESTER  JUDD." 

"  THE  PARSONAGE,  AUGUSTA,  June  22,  1851. 

"  My  dear  E.,  —  I  was  glad  to  see  that  you  remem 
bered  me,  and  am  always  glad  to  know  how  what 
St.  John  calls  'my  children'  are  doing.  I  wish, 
above  all  things,  that  they  may  prosper,  and  be  in 
health. 

"Am  I  to  understand,  from  that  programme  you 
were  so  kind  as  to  send  me,  that  the  several  young 
ladies  spoke  their  parts  ?  What  did  you  say  about 
'  chivalry '  ? 

"  There  is  much  that  is  beautiful  in  our  ideal  of 
that  thing.  But  those  gallant  knights  seem  to  have 
been  very  cruel  and  bloodthirsty  men.  One  of  the 


238  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

darkest  and  saddest  pages  of  history  is  the  taking  of 
Jerusalem  by  the  Crusaders.  Have  you  read  Frois- 
sart's  Chronicles  ?  You  will  find  a  good  deal  on  the 
times  and  manners  of  chivalry  in  Scott's  novels. 

"  St.  John  was  rejoiced  to  hear  that  his  children 
were  *  walking  in  the  truth.'  So  I  hope  you  are 
doing.  I  trust  you  cleave  to  your  Bible ;  that  you 
feel  an  interest  in  Jesus,  your  blessed  Redeemer  and 
divine  Teacher  ;  that  you  cultivate  a  spirit  of  con 
scientiousness  ;  that  you  maintain  habits  of  prayer ; 
that,  in  all  things,  you  seek  to  conduct  yourself  as  a 
child  of  God,  and  a  lamb  of  the  flock  of  Jesus. 

"  Believe  me  your  affectionate  Friend  and  Pastor, 

"  SYLVESTER  JUDD." 

1852. 

Mr.  Judd's  reputation  as  a  lyceum  lecturer  had 
so  extended,  that  in  1852  his  applications  of  this 
kind  had  become  very  numerous. 

But  the  great,  absorbing  subject  which  enlisted  all 
the  energies  of  his  spirit  was  the  interests  of  the 
church,  —  the  advancement  of  principles  relating  to 
its  progress  in  spirituality,  which  had  been  the  fre 
quent  theme  of  his  discourse.  Long  and  patient 
had  been  his  investigations,  deep  and  earnest  his 
thought ;  and  his  conclusions  were  to  his  own  mind 
clear  and  incontrovertible.  "With  the  modesty  natu 
ral  to  his  character,  he  had  heretofore  abstained  from 
thrusting  upon  the  public  at  large  views  peculiar  to 
himself.  In  speaking  with  a  friend,  he  adverted 
to  his  always  having  kept  back  in  his  denomination, 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  239 

and  left  it  to  others  to  go  forward  ;  "  but  now,"  said 
he,  "  I  am  getting  to  be  almost  forty  years  old,  and 
I  feel  that,  if  I  am  ever  going  to  do  any  thing,  I 
have  a  right  to  do  it  now." 

On  the  birth-relation  to  the  church,  he  spoke  much 
to  his  people  in  public,  and  conversed  with  them  in 
private.  At  meetings  with  his  brethren  in  the  minis 
try,  the  question,  "  What  shall  we  do  with  the  chil 
dren  1 "  had  been  so  often  put  in  the  same  form,  that 
it  had  assumed  something  of  the  character  of  a  by 
word  ;  and  its  reiteration,  although  regarded  as  an 
interrogatory  of  momentous  import,  had  come  often 
to  provoke  a  smile.  Yet  satisfactory  answer  came 
there  none. 

Touching  this  general  subject,  he  thus  writes  -— 

To  REV.  E.  E.  H. 

"  ACGCSTA,  July  27,  1852. 

"  Brother  H.,  —  For  years  I  have  been  burying 
myself,  plans,  hopes,  speculations,  in  a  something  I 
call  the  church,  the  true,  Christian  church.  In 
*  Margaret '  the  thing  is  broadly  hinted  at ;  in  *  Philo  ' 
it  comes  up  in  another  shape ;  in  '  Richard  Edney  ' 
it  becomes  an  assumed  fact.  It  is,  of  course,  *  catho 
lic ;'  it  is,  of  course,  '  orthodox ; '  it  is  the  church  ; 
it  is  '  holy  and  apostolical ; '  and  it  is,  to  the  core, 
Unitarian.  To  these  ideas  I  am  gradually  bringing 
my  own  parish. 

"  There  is  no  salvation  for  this  world  but  in  Uni- 
tarianism,  —  the  one  God,  the  one  humanity,  the 
one  communion  of  all  souls,  the  unity  in  God  of 
science,  art,  religion,  life,  earth  and  heaven,  time  and 


240  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

eternity.  The  idea  of  the  Fall  of  man  begot  that  of 
the  Trinity,  the  disunity  of  God.  There  has  been 
no  harmony  since ;  no  harmony  of  states,  churches ; 
none  of  the  spiritual  and  secular  element ;  none  of 
science  and  religion. 

"  Believe  me  everlastingly  yours  and  God's, 

"S.  JUDD." 

Other  subjects  of  prominent  interest  to  his  mind 
were  the  means  for  rendering  public  worship  more 
impressive,  and  the  value  of  a  permanent  organiza 
tion  of  the  churches  of  the  Unitarian  denomination. 

The  Unitarian  clergymen  in  Maine  had,  very 
generally,  become  deeply  interested  in  all  these  mat 
ters.  Many  of  them  agreed,  that,  at  the  Maine 
Ministerial  Association,  which  was  to  be  held  in 
Belfast,  August  3,  1852,  they  would  remain  as  long 
as  need  be  for  the  full  discussion  of  these  subjects, 
and  would  not  separate  until  some  steps  were  taken 
towards  the  furtherance  of  these  interests.  This 
meeting  continued  three  days,  and  was  one  of  intense 
interest  to  Mr.  Judd.  It  was  voted,  "  That  measures 
be  taken  to  form  a  permanent  organization  of  the 
churches  of  the  Unitarian  connection  in  Maine  ;  and 
that  a  Convention  be  called  for  that  object,  to  be  held 
in  Portland  in  the  following  September."  The  draft 
of  a  plan  of  organization  was  prepared  to  be  submit 
ted  to  the  Convention,  which  was  printed  and  dis 
tributed  to  the  several  churches  throughout  the  State. 
The  preparation  of  a  Preamble,  or  Declaration,  set 
ting  forth  the  reasons  and  principles  of  the  proposed 
organization,  was  entrusted  to  Mr.  Judd. 

On  the  sabbath  after  his  return  from  Belfast,  Mr. 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 


Judd  laid  the  whole  matter  before  his  people,  explain 
ing  the  reasons  and  advantages  of  such  an  organiza 
tion,  and  the  many  important  objects  of  interest  to 
the  church  which  it  was  intended  to  promote.  The 
pathos  of  his  tone  and  look  showed  how  fully  his 
very  soul  was  fused  into  the  interests  of  the  church 
of  Christ  on  earth.  The  hearts  of  his  people  were 
deeply  touched.  In  giving  an  account  of  it  to  the 
Rev.  Mr.  P.,  he  says,  "One  brother  moved  that 
the  people  substantially  approve  the  plan.  This  was 
seconded.  I  asked  all,  men,  women,  and  children, 
in  favor,  to  rise.  All  rose  !  the  whole  congregation, 
some  strangers.  I  felt  strengthened.  These  are  the 
times  of  God's  Spirit,  —  these  are  all  Pentecosts  !  " 
So  full  was  his  own  heart  at  this  unanimous,  approv 
ing  testimony,  that  his  faltering  voice  scarce  sufficed 
to  pronounce  the  benediction. 

He  adds,  "  The  more  I  think  of  what  we  have 
done,  the  more  it  seems  just  and  right,  timely  and 
auspicious." 

In  the  interval  before  the  meeting  of  the  proposed 
Convention,  Mr.  Judd  followed  up,  with  his  people, 
his  great  idea,  underlying  all  his  other  wishes  for 
improvements  in  the  church,  that  of  bringing  all  his 
congregation,  including  children,  to  believe  and  feel 
themselves  as  of  the  church. 

To  one  of  his  church,  he  wrote  :  — 

"  CHRIST  CHURCH  PARSONAGE,  AUGUSTA,  Aug.  11,  1862. 

"Dear  -  ,  You  went  away  so  suddenly  and 
unexpectedly,  I  had  no  time  to  see  you.  Do  write, 
that  we  may  know  how  you  are.  Believe,  dear  -  , 

21 


242  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

that  God  loves  you ;  that  you  are  his  child,  his  holy 
one  ;  that  he  will  never  leave  nor  forsake  you ;  that 
Jesus  bears  you  in  his  soul,  even  as  a  tender  lamb. 

"  I  have  been  very  busy  indeed  since  you  left. 
I  hoped  to  get  a  moment's  leisure  this  summer ;  but 
duty  and  toil  seem  to  crowd  more  and  more.  I 
spent  all  of  last  week  with  my  clerical  brethren  at 
Belfast,  consulting  on  matters  pertaining  to  Christ 
and  the  church. 

"  I  hope  you  will  write  me  ;  do,  a  word.  Assure 
me  of  your  remembrance. 

"  I  pray  for  you,  and  hope  for  you ;  and  be  as 
sured  of  the  deepest  interest  and  unfailing  interces 
sions  of  your  Friend  and  Pastor, 

"  SYLVESTER  JTTDD." 

In  August,  he  was  successful  in  realizing  his  long- 
cherished  idea,  that,  through  the  facilities  afforded  by 
railroads,  the  sabbath  schools  of  churches  in  distant 
towns  could  be  brought  together  in  rural  festivals. 
"  Greenwood  Church "  was  put  in  repair  for  the 
occasion ;  and  a  white  flag,  bearing  a  cross,  waved 
above  the  tops  of  the  trees. 

The  day  appointed  was  fine.  The  children,  with 
happy  faces,  gathered  in  great  numbers  from  several 
other  towns  in  the  State,  attended  by  parents  and 
teachers.  Addresses  were  given,  hymns  sung,  and 
then  for  a  time  the  children  were  dismissed  to  their 
various  innocent  and  exhilarating  recreations.  Re 
freshments  were  served,  the  old  renewed  their  youth 
in  participating  in  the  children's  joy,  pleasant  ac 
quaintances  were  made,  kindly  feelings  cherished, 
an  enlarged  benevolence  generated.  In  meeting 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  243 

again  to  receive  the  parting  benediction,  children 
were  brought  forward  for  baptism,  and,  in  God's 
own  temple,  consecrated  to  his  service. 

According  to  appointment,  the  Convention  met  in 
Portland  in  September.  With  scarcely  an  exception, 
all  the  Unitarian  churches  in  Maine  were  represented 
by  pastors  and  delegates. 

The  Preamble  finally  adopted  was  as  follows  :  — 

"We,  the  Unitarian  Church  of  Maine,  ourselves 
and  our  posterity,  are  a  church ;  a  part  of  the 
church  universal,  of  the  church  of  God  and  Christ ; 
a  church  congregational,  evangelical,  apostolic.  We 
are  the  church,  not  of  creeds*,  but  of  the  Bible  ; 
not  of  a  sect,  but  of  humanity  ;  seeking  not  uni 
formity  of  dogma,  but  communion  in  the  religious 
life.  We  embrace  in  our  fellowship  all  who  will  be 
in  fellowship  with  us. 

"  Locally,  and  in  a  limited  sense,  a  collection  or 
society  of  Christians  is  a  church. 

"  These  Christians,  with  their  families,  uniting  in 
regular  assembly  for  religious  worship,  instruction, 
growth,  and  culture,  having  the  ordinances  and  a 
pastor,  constitute  a  parochial  church. 

"  These  Christians,  with  their  families,  in  any 
city,  town,  or  precinct  of  the  State,  not  having  the 
forms  and  means  of  regular  religious  service,  and 
without  a  pastor,  constitute  an  un/parochial  church. 

"  In  the  State  of  Maine  there  will  therefore  be 
parochial  and  unparochial  churches. 

"  These  several  churches,  considered  as  a  whole, 
constitute  the  Unitarian  Church  of  Maine. 

"  This  church,  as  auxiliary  to  the  divine  purpose 


£44  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

that  calls  it  into  being,  proposes  to  create  an  organi 
zation  of  a  permanent  character,  to  meet  annually, 
to  be  called  the(  Association  of  the  Unitarian  Church 
of  Maine,  and  having  a  Constitution,  which  is  hereto 
adjoined. 

"  The  objects  of  this  association  are  mutual  con 
ference,  illumination,  and  strength  ;  to  gather  more 
and  more  into  one  the  scattered  elements  of  our 
faith ;  to  deepen  the  sympathies  that  should  exist  in 
all  parts  of  a  common  Zion ;  to  review  the  condition 
of  the  several  churches ;  to  concert  the  best  methods 
of  propagating  gospel  truth  ;  and  to  adjust  ourselves 
more  nearly  to  the  ceurse  of  events,  whereby  Divine 
Providence  seems  evidently  to  be  ushering  in  a  bet 
ter  and  a  millennial  day  to  the  whole  human  race." 

The  Constitution  provided,  that,  "any  church  not 
calling  itself  Unitarian,  yet  sympathizing  in  the 
spirit  and  objects  of  the  association,  might  be  repre 
sented  in  it."  Also,  that  "  no  ecclesiastical  power 
or  authority  should  ever  be  assumed  by  the  associa 
tion,  or  delegated  to  it." 

Among  other  officers  of  the  association  were  six 
business-committees  ;  namely,  on  churches,  on  Sun 
day  schools,  on  missions,  on  charities  and  reforms, 
on  publications,  and  on  church-art. 

It  was  also  provided,  that  "  at  each  annual  me'et- 
ing  there  should  be  a  convention-sermon  or  address  ; 
written  reports  from  the  Executive  Board  and  the 
several  business-committees  ;  a  public  discussion  of 
matters  pertaining  to  Christian  philanthropy  and  the 
religious  life  ;  and  the  administration  of  the  Lord's 
Supper." 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  £45 

Mr.  Judd  was  appointed  one  of  the  Executive 
Board,  and  chairman  of  the  committee  on  churches. 
He  was,  of  course,  deeply  gratified  in  seeing  the 
plans  which  he  and  his  brethren  had  formed  thus 
fully  consummated. 

About  the  last  of  September,  with  his  little  girl 
of  eight  years  old  for  company,  he  again  visited  the 
White  Hills.  Proceeding  across  the  State  to  Barnet, 
Vt.,  he  passed  through  the  pleasant  valley  of  the 
Connecticut  to  his  beloved  Northampton  home. 

During  this  visit,  he  was  in  a  most  genial,  happy 
state  of  feeling ;  a  boy  once  more  under  his  father's 
roof,  and  by  his  mother's  side.  He  was  interested 
in  noticing  every  thing  about  the  town.  To  the 
annual  cattle-show  and  fair  he  gave  much  attention. 
The  various  kinds  of  fruits  and  garden-vegetables  he 
examined  closely,  with  a  view  to  ascertain  the  best 
kinds.  He  wrote,  almost  daily,  graphic,  picture-like 
letters  to  his  wife,  placing  before  her  all  that  was 
being  said  and  done. 

Oct.  5,  he  writes  :  "  Yesterday  was  rainy.  We 
stayed  in  the  house,  about  the  fire,  talking,  laughing, 
joking.  We  boiled  chestnuts ;  ate  pears  and  peaches  ; 
talked  about  the  reason  of  using  hops  in  making 

yeast ;  whether  P n  said  Jenny  Lind  painted  ; 

the  effect  of  poor  land  to  make  Democrats ;  whether 
there  was  a  natural  law  of  reaction  in  human  affairs." 
He  gives  minute  directions  about  his  affairs  at  home. 
His  mind  seems  to  have  been  in  an  unusually  active 
state.  He  preached  his  views  of  the  church  here. 

Leaving  Northampton,  he  proceeded  to  New  York, 
where  he  spent  a  few  days,  availing  himself  of  what- 

21* 


246  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

ever  of  interest  he  found  there.  But  of  this  city  he 
writes  to  his  wife  :  "  It  is  not  agreeable  to  me.  It 
is  a  dreadful  impersonation  of  human  life ;  nothing 
real,  nothing  common,  but  a  vast  hungry  shadow  of 
things.  To  meet  so  many  people  whom  you  never 
saw,  between  whom  and  yourself  is  such  a  chasm,  — 
'tis  horrible." 

After  paying  short  visits  to  Philadelphia  and 
Washington,  he  repaired  to  Baltimore,  to  be  present 
at  the  Unitarian  Autumnal  Convention,  to  attend 
which  his  people  had  cheerfully  contributed  the 
means.  He  had  hoped  to  introduce  for  discussion 
before  the  Convention  those  topics  relating  to  the 
church  which  were  of  so  much  interest  to  his  own 
mind.  But  other  matters,  previously  arranged  by 
the  business-committee,  occupied  nearly  the  whole 
session  of  the  Convention.  He  did,  however,  at  the 
very  last  of  the  meeting,  find  an  opportunity  briefly, 
but  eloquently,  to  indicate  his  views.  He  felt 
disappointed  and  rather  saddened  at  not  being  able 
to  secure  for  these  subjects  more  prominence,  but 
consoled  himself  with  the  thought  that  they  were 
fairly  introduced,  and  that,  on  the  next  year,  they 
would  receive  the  chief  attention.  He  presented 
this  "subject  also  in  sermons  in  Brooklyn  and  in 
Baltimore. 

Happy  was  he  in  returning  to  his  own  people, 
and,  as  he  wrote  while  absent,  to  "what  is  to  me 
the  most  beautiful  spot  on  earth,  the  parsonage." 

He  now  addresses  himself  in  great  earnestness  to 
the  realization  of  his  wishes  among  his  own  people, 
—  the  bringing  of  all,  parents  and  children,  to 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  £47 

consider  themselves  as  part  and  parcel  of  the  church 
of  Christ,  and  to  express  this  conviction  by  receiving 
the  symbols  of  his  death  in  communion  with  each 
other.     He  meets  the  children  to  talk  with  them 
about  the  meaning  of  the  Lord's  Supper,  and  the 
fitness  of  their  joining  in  it.     He  meets  the  adults 
of   his   congregation   at   private    houses    again   and 
again  ;  and  they  familiarly  discuss  the  subject.     He 
draws  up,  has  printed,  and  circulates  among  them, 
the  following  Declaration,  which  he  proposes  shall 
be  signed   by  every  individual  under  his  pastoral 
charge,  by  family  :  — 

"  CHRIST  CEUBCH,  AUGUSTA,  M«. 

"  Being  no  longer  strangers,  but  heirs  of  the 
covenant  confirmed  before  of  God  to  the  fathers, 
we,  the  undersigned,  pastor  and  people,  parents  and 
children,  constituting  Christ  Church,  Augusta,  of 
the  Unitarian  Church  of  Maine,  of  the  church  uni 
versal,  express  the  following  :  — 

"  We  recognize  the  church,  co-ordinately  with  the 
family  and  the  state,  as  a  divine  and  permanent  form 
of  human  society. 

"  We  confess  to  the  authority  of  God's  most  holy 
Word,  and  cherish  the  dispensation  of  grace  and 
truth  by  Jesus  Christ,  his  Son. 

"We  believe  in  the  unity  of  theology,  religion, 
and  morality,  and  the  harmony  of  nature  and  reve 
lation. 

"  We  hold  to  the  Christian  ministry,  worship,  and 
rites. 

"  We  aim  at  the  highest  Christian  culture,  spirit- 


£48  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

ual  birth  and  growth,  and  the  perfection  of  our  na 
tures. 

"  "We  will  seek  to  bring  up  our  children  in  the 
nurture  and  admonition  of  the  Lord. 

"  We  will  do  good  as  we  have  opportunity. 

"  "We  will  aid  in  the  extension  of  the  kingdom  of 
Christ  in  the  earth. 

"  So  far  as  in  us  lies,  we  will  live  peaceably  with 
all  men. 

"  It  shall  be  our  endeavor  to  do  justly,  love  mercy, 
and  walk  humbly  with  our  God. 

"  Acknowledging  the  essential  unity  of  the  Chris 
tian  body,  we  claim  the  right  of  private  judgment, 
and  the  sanctity  of  the  individual  conscience. 

"We  would  live  agreeably  to  the  laws  of  God, 
and  die  in  the  hope  of  a  glorious  immortality." 

He  has  several  meetings  of  his  people  to  consider 
this  declaration,  the  final  result  of  which  was,  that  it 
received  the  hearty  approval  of  his  people  by  an 
almost  unanimous  vote.  He  gets  ready  a  blank  book 
to  serve  as  a  register  of  names  subscribed  to  this 
declaration.  He  had,  for  a  few  months  previously, 
omitted  to  administer  the  Communion  at  the  regu 
lar  period ;  and  the  last  time  the  table  was  spread, 
when  the  hour  came  for  this  service,  his  feeling  that 
they  were  then  entirely  on  a  wrong  basis  was  so 
strong,  that  he  did  not  administer  the  emblems.  He 
then  said  to  his  people,  with  the  deepest  feeling,  and 
in  the  most  solemn  manner,  in  reference  to  dismiss 
ing  the  congregation  and  administering  the  rite  to  a 
solitary  few,  "that  he  NEVER  SHOULD  DO  IT  AGAIN." 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  249 

But  now  all  the  indications  among  his  people  are 
as  favorable  as  he  could  hope.  Some  who  had  always 
stood  aloof  from  any  thing  pertaining  to  the  church, 
exclusively,  come  forward  and  support  his  views. 
He  is  cheered  by  the  prospect  of  the  consummation 
of  his  long-cherished  desires.  His  whole  nature 
seems  peculiarly  harmonized  with  itself.  His  affec 
tions  go  forth  to  his  family  friends  with  even  more 
than  wonted  tenderness.  To  his  mother  he  de 
spatches  short  familiar  missives  of  his  daily  life,  more 

frequently  than  usual.  To  his  brother  H i,  he 

writes :  "  I  remember  your  fraternal  kindness  when 
I  was  in  New  York.  Many  years  may  we  all  live  ; 
in  love,  purity,  and  piety,  may  our  days  go  by ;  may 
the  world  be  better  for  our  having  lived  in  it !  God 
keep  us  in  his  covenant  unto  the  end ! " 

By  letter  to  Rev.  Mr.  Palfrey  of  Belfast,  Nov.  2, 
he  says  :  "  The  question  you  asked  me  at  Baltimore, 
'  Shall  we  not  have  a  meeting  of  the  Ministerial 
Association  ? '  has  risen  with  great  force  on  my  mind 
since  I  got  home.  I  feel  that  we  have  commenced 
a  great  work ;  that  we  are  only  at  the  beginning  of 
things,  and  of  mighty  things  ;  and  never  more  than 
now  did  I  feel  the  need  of  conference  with  my 
brethren,  and  prayer  to  Almighty  God.  Curiosity 
and  interest  are  awake  everywhere.  There  is  a 
waiting  for  the  dawn.  The  movement  in  other 
places  hangs  somewhat  on  our  lead.  There  is  need 
of  fuller  explanations  than  our  association-documents 
contain. 

"  More  than  all,  we  have  hitherto  conferred  some 
what  in  the  mist,  somewhat  in  doubt.  But  having 


S50  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

taken  the  decisive  step ;  having,  so  to  say,  just  landed 
on  the  shores  of  that  great  country  that  has  been 
the  object  of  so  much  toil  and  anxiety,  we  are  now 
in  a  condition  for  fair  and  calm  deliberation. 

"  Shall  we  have  a  meeting  ?  " 

In  another  letter  to  the  same,  Dec.  20,  he  says : 
"  It  has  seemed  to  me,  that  we,  some  of  us,  ought  to 
publish  to  the  world  some  of  our  church-principles, 
views,  and  plans.  There  is  a  spirit  of  inquiry  awake 
in  this  vicinity.  Yet  there  is  hardly  a  published 
word  anywhere  that  can  be  got  hold  of.  Our  own 
people  need  to  see  the  thing  in  print.  It  is  matter 
to  be  pondered.  Our  '  Report '  even  does  not  ex 
plain  itself  to  anybody.  I  propose  there  be  pub 
lished  a  book  of  this  sort :  f  The  Church,  in  a  series 
of  Discourses  by  Clergymen  of  the  Unitarian  Church 
of  Maine.  Boston :  Crosby  and  Nichols.' 

"  I  am  willing  to  take  all  the  risk  of  publication  ; 
and  what  I  want  is,  that  any  of  us  whose  minds 
have  been  exercised  in  this  matter  should  give  to 
the  world  a  discourse  upon  it.  You  take  up  one 
point,  I  another,  &c.,  &c.  I  want  we  should  show 
a  kind  of  organic,  unitary  front.  I  am  tired  of  so 
much  personality.  For  my  own  part,  I  have  several 
discourses  I  might  put  in.  Have  you  not  preached 
some  sermons  that  are  just  the  thing  1 

"I  repeat,  I  take  all  the  risk" 

And  again  to  Mr.  P.,  Dec.  24,  he  writes :  "  Into 
our  hands,  my  dear  brother,  God  has  thrown  the 
initiation  of  the  great  cause.  It  must  come  from 
Unitarians  :  it  can  come  from  nowhere  else. 

"  Suppose  a  man  does  say  '  I  won't,'  we  mustn't 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 


mind  it.  Suppose  one  to  say,  'I  won't  consider 
myself  a  sinner,  or  that  I  have  religious  responsi 
bilities,  or  that  I  ought  to  lead  a  spiritual  life, 
ought  to  love  God,'  &c.  &c.,  —  we  go  to  work,  and 
endeavor  to  convince  him  of  these  things.  Suppose 
your  child  says,  'I  won't  be  your  child,'  or  'I 
won't  keep  the  sabbath,'  or  '  I  won't  go  to  school,' 
you  just  assume  these  points,  and  then  go  ahead. 

"  We  shall  find  plenty  of  the  '  don't-care  '  sort  of 
folk.  It  is  our  duty  to  make  them  care. 

"We  have  the  authority  of  God,  the  Bible,  histo 
ry,  reason,  common  sense;  and,  if  higher  is  wanted, 
I  know  not  where  to  look  for  it. 

"  My  people  at  this  moment  are  in  an  interesting 
state.  The  great,  the  solemn  question  is  now  before 
them,  'Will  we  be  a  church,  to  all  intents  and 
purposes?'  We  have  had  several  meetings.  No 
question  can  be  so  searching.  There  is  shaking 
among  the  dry  bones,  I  assure  you.  I  never  felt 
that  I  could  preach  the  gospel  as  I  can  now.  I 
never  felt  what  a  sword  the  spirit  is  as  now.  I  will 
report  results  in  due  time  :  there  are  doubts  and 
scruples  and  hesitancies,  of  course. 

"  Would  that  all  our  churches  could  move  to 
gether  in  this  ! 

"So  I  must  prepare  that  volume  of  discourses 
without  your  help.  I  am  sorry.  - 

"  We  have  asserted  the  church  of  all  our  church 
es  ;  the  next  step  is  for  these  churches,  that  is, 
each  individual  church,  to  assert  the  same  of  itself. 
This  is  essential.  But,  slow  and  easy,  there  is  time 
enough." 


252  RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA. 

He  lectures  before   lyceums  at  Richmond,  Gar 
diner,  Kennebunk,   Portland.      He   has'  immediate 
engagements  for  lyceum  lectures  at  Salem  and  Glou 
cester,,  and  a  large  number  of  similar  engagements 
for  the  coming  winter. 

He  engages  to  preach  in  Boston  the  first  Thurs 
day  Lecture  of  the  year  1853.  With  great  labor,  he 
condenses,  as  far  as  possible,  his  views  on  the  birth 
right  church  into  one  discourse.  He  rejoices  to 
have  an  opportunity  to  lay  them  before  a  clerical 
audience. 

1853. 

Mr.  Judd  preaches  to  his  people  the  first  sermon 
of  the  new  year,  and,  as  was  his  wont,  reviews  the 
one  just  past.  He  speaks  of  those  who  in  this 
period  have  passed  away  from  sight,  —  of  those  who 
may  depart  the  coming  year.  He  notices  the  great 
mortality  there  has  been  among  his  people,  and  asks, 
"Who  of  us  will  be  missed  from  these  seats  on 
another  New  Year's  day  ?  Which  of  you  shall  I 
next  be  called  upon  to  lay  in  the  grave  ?  Or  will  it 
be  you  that  shall  perform  the  last  sad  duties  to  the 
cold  remains  of  your  pastor  ?  " 

The  succeeding  day,  with  much  fatigue,  he  com 
pletes  his  preparation  for  the  Boston  Thursday  Lec 
ture  of  the  same  week.  At  night  he  leaves  his  home, 
to  be  conveniently  situated  the  next  morning  for 
starting  at  an  early  hour  on  his  way  to  meet  his 
engagements  in  Boston  and  the  towns  near  by. 


RESIDENCE    AT    AUGUSTA.  253 

And  now,  the  subject  of  this  history  having  ar 
rived  at  the  fulness  of  manhood's  years ;  his  mental 
and  moral  powers,  if  not  yet  at  the  acme  of  their 
capabilities,  at  least  having  reached  a  high  degree  of 
development  and  maturity,  —  let  us  pause  in  this 
life-drama,  and  notice  the  prominent  characteristics 
which  make  him,  as  a  man,  what  he  is. 


22 


254 


CHAPTER  VII. 


RELATION    TO    THE    MINISTRY. 


EARLY    POSITION    AT    AUGUSTA. 

THE  object  of  this  chapter  is  to  unfold  and  explain 
at  large  many  points  which  have  been  but  cursorily 
hinted  at  in  the  preceding  one. 

Augusta,  the  scene  of  Mr.  Judd's  ministerial 
labors,  being  the  capital  of  Maine,  and  occupying 
rather  a  central  position,  has  always  been  regarded 
religiously,  as  well  as  in  other  respects,  an  important 
post.  The  Unitarian  church  in  this  place  was  one 
of  the  earliest  of  that  name  established  in  the  State. 
It  was  at  first  small,  and  was  sustained  principally 
by  a  few  individuals.  Previously  to  Mr.  Judd's  set 
tlement  there,  a  number  of  clergymen  had  preached 
for  the  church,  for  longer  or  shorter  periods,  and 
one  or  two  had  been  settled  as  pastors ;  but,  for 
various  reasons,  no  one  had  remained  a  great  length 
of  time. 

When  Mr.  Judd  entered  into  the  pastoral  relation 
with  this  church  in  1840,  it  was  still  so  feeble  as  to 
require  aid  from  the  American  Unitarian  Association. 
But,  few  in  numbers,  and  somewhat  cold  in  religious 
feeling,  as  were  the  people  whose  charge  he  assumed, 


RELATION    TO    THE    MINISTRY.  255 

he  entered  upon  his  labors  with  the  warmest  desire 
for  the  promotion  of  the  highest,  the  spiritual  inte 
rests  of  his  whole  flock.  While  he  embraced  the 
general  principles  known  as  Unitarian  or  Liberal, 
he  brought  into  their  service  all  the  ardor  of  feeling, 
all  the  desire  for  spirituality  and  devotion,  of  those 
called  Orthodox,  in  communion  with  whom  his  early 
life  had  been  passed.  On  his  first  intercourse  with 
the  Unitarian  denomination,  he  felt  the  coldness  of 
intellect  too  much  predominating  over  fervor  of  spi 
rit.  And,  while  he  saw  full  well  that  this  was  a 
natural  result  of  the  opposition  it  had  had  to  contend 
with,  and  the  controversy  in  which  it  had  been  forced 
to  expend  much  of  its  energy,  he  believed  the  sys 
tem  itself  pregnant  with  life-giving,  spiritual  warmth, 
and  felt  that  the  time  had  come  for  bringing  forth 
its  legitimate  fruits  of  devoted  piety. 

A  high  reverence  for  truth,  and  a  spirit  of  earnest, 
religious  devotion,  two  features  which  had  strongly 
marked  his  previous  course,  inspired  him  at  the  out 
set,  and  formed  the  basis  of  his  whole  career  as  a 
Christian  minister.  The -very  first  sermon  he  ever 
wrote,  while  yet  unlicensed  to  preach,  was  from  the 
text,  "  Buy  the  truth."  He  had  a  high  sense  of  the 
consistency,  the  sacredness,  the  imperiousness  of 
truth.  He  regarded  it  as  the  element  of  the  soul. 
He  believed  it  manifested  to  us  by  means  of  an 
internal,  corresponding  ideal,  and  that  a  man's  own 
consciousness  must  therefore  be  the  arbiter  as  to  what 
is  truth.  He  felt  that  man's  better  nature  had  been 
much  abused  and  fettered  by  infusions  of  error,  the 
tenets  of  mere  sect.  He  rejoiced  to  see  strugglings 


256  RELATION    TO   THE    MINISTRY. 

for  release,  and  was  happy  to  witness  tokens  of 
change. 

He  sought  for  and  embraced  truth  in  its  simplest, 
most  unsophisticated  forms.  He  did  not  care  to 
make  out  a  formal  system  of  doctrine.  He  wished 
no  creed  but  the  simple  language  of  the  Bible.  He 
took  the  words  of  Jesus  with  childlike  trust  to  his 
own  heart,  and  gave  them  out  to  his  people  as  the 
guide  of  their  lives,  and,  if  obedient  to  them,  their 
passport  to  heaven.  Christ  was  the  grand  idea  that 
underlay  all  his  preaching.  To  be  Christ-like  was 
the  alpha  and  omega  of  all  his  teachings.  He  pre 
sented  Christ  to  his  people  as  the  life  of  their  life, 
the  wellspring  of  their  souls  ;  his  cross,  the  burden 
of  life  which  all  must  bear,  and  which,  if  borne 
well,  would  bring  forth  flowers  and  fruit  to  their 
souls.  His  church  he  caused  to  be  designated  as 
Christ  Church.  His  sermons  were  practical  rather 
than  theoretical.  He  at  once  looked  to  the  spiritual 
needs  of  his  church,  and,  from  the  first,  began  to 
labor  with  a  systematic  bearing  upon  the  growth  of 
his  whole  congregation  in  Christ-likeness. 

To  this  end,  besides  the  regular  ministrations  of 
the  sabbath,  he  early  commenced  meeting  his  people 
socially  at  private  houses  for  religious  conversation. 
Baptism  and  the  Lord's  Supper  he  regarded,  the  one 
as  a  seal  of  Christian  birth,  the  other  as  a  means  of 
growth  in  Christian  graces,  —  both  open  to  all,  and 
equally  binding  upon  all.  At  the  very  beginning 
of  his  ministry,  it  grieved  him  that  so  very  small  a 
proportion  of  his  hearers  seemed  to  feel  the  obliga 
tions  of  Christians  resting  upon  them  ;  that  so  few 


RELATION    TO    THE    MINISTRY.  257 

brought  their  children  to  baptism  ;  so  few  observed 
the  ordinance  appointed  in  remembrance  of  himself 
by  the  great  Founder  of  the  Christian  system,  under 
which  they  lived,  and  the  mighty  blessings,  civil  as 
well  as  religious,  which  it  conferred  upon  them. 
One  of  the  first  topics  of  conversation  at  these  reli 
gious  meetings  was  Baptism  and  the  Lord's  Supper. 
Not  that  he  considered  these  ordinances  as  possessing 
any  inherent  efficacy;  that  the  baptismal  water  or 
the  eucharistic  bread  and  wine  conferred  on  the 
recipients  any  peculiar  sanctity ;  but  rather  that  their 
tendency  was  to  bring  such  as  observed  them  to  a 
fuller  sense  of  the  inevitable  obligations  arising 
from  their  having  birth  under  the  Christian  dis 
pensation  ;  obligations  equally  binding  upon  all,  and 
to  which  they  added  nothing  by  complying  with 
these  observances. 

In  his  sermon  called  "The  Beautiful  Zion," 
preached  within  the  first  year  of  his  settlement, 
are  found  the  following  passages  :  — 

"  The  beauty  of  Zion,"  he  says,  "  will  be  enhanced 
by  the  number  of  those  that  come  to  her  altars.  The 
entire  mass  of  the  Jewish  population  frequented  the 
courts  of  the  Lord,  and  contributed  to  the  services 
of  the  temple.  In  the  apostolic  days,  whole  families, 
children  included,  joined  in  the  commemoration  of 
Christ,  and  participated  in  the  use  of  the  sacred 
emblems.  The  eastern  and  western  churches,  in 
their  prominent  divisions,  —  the  Greek,  Roman,  and 
Episcopal,  —  permit  the  privileges  of  the  Eucharist 
to  all  who  choose  to  enjoy  them.  It  is  an  innovation 
of  Protestantism,  I  believe,  that  discriminates  access 

22* 


£58  RELATION    TO    THE    MINISTRY. 

to  the  altar.  But,  says  the  Psalmist,  '  all  they  in  Zion 
appear  before  God.'  It  is  desired  and  expected  that 
all  who  love  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  should  remember 
him  in  his  death.  I  know  of  but  one  pre-requisite 
for  church-membership ;  that  is,  love  to  Christ. 
This  may  include  the  young  as  well  as  the  old,  and 
would  shut  out  no  one  who  aims  at  a  conscientious 
fulfilment  of  his  religious  obligations." 

As  years  passed  on,  Mr.  Judd  presented  to  his 
people,  from  time  to  time,  a  rich  variety  of  topics, 
fitted  to  awaken  thought,  to  expand  the  intellect,  to 
enlarge  the  sphere  of  knowledge,  to  arouse  sensibility 
to  nature's  teachings,  to  administer  consolation  to 
the  afflicted,  to  throw  a  cheering  light  upon  the 
transition  from  this  to  the  invisible  world,  and,  more 
especially,  to  enlist  the  affections  of  the  heart  in  love 
to  God  and  love  to  man,  and  to  deepen  the  spirituality 
of  the  soul's  life.  But,  amid  all  these,  and  as  a 
means  of  forwarding  all  valuable  Christian  progress, 
ever  and  again  he  returned  to  the  prevalent  distinc 
tion  between  the  church  and  the  world,  which  he 
considered  a  formidable  barrier  to  the  universality 
of  Christian  character. 

On  entering  into  connection  with  the  people  of 
his  charge,  he  found  a  covenant  which  had  been  the 
basis  of  their  church-organization.  All  that  was 
required  of  those  considering  themselves  peculiarly 
members  of  the  church  was  simply  writing  their 
names  under  this  covenant.  But  Mr.  Judd  did  not 
at  all  insist  on  this.  He  invited  to  the  communion, 
as  it  was  administered  from  month  to  month,  all 
who  loved  the  Lord  Jesus  ;  all  who  felt  interested 


RELATION    TO   THE    MINISTRY.  259 

in  the  blessings  of  the  gospel,  or  who  were  reli 
giously  disposed.  Yet  almost  the  whole  congregation 
would  turn  their  backs  upon  this  memorial  of  their 
Saviour,  and  the  urgent  entreaties  of  his  minister, 
who,  with  sinking  heart  and  a  despairing  sense  of 
the  futility  of  his  labors,  would  descend  to  break  the 
bread  and  administer  the  cup  to  the  scattered  few 
that  remained. 

At  length,  as  has  been  seen,  many  parents  became 
so  far  aroused  as  to  bring  their  children  to  baptism, 
until  nearly  all  his  flock  had  received  this  Christian 
seal.  Instead  of  dismissing  the  congregation,  and 
making  the  communion  a  private  service,  separate 
from  the  other  acts  of  religious  worship,  it  was  made 
a  part  of  the  regular  afternoon-exercises.  This  prac 
tice  was  much  more  consonant  to  Mr.  Judd's  feelings 
than  that  of  sending  away,  as  it  were,  those  to  whom 
he  would  gladly  administer,  to  the  fullest  extent, 
the  bread  and  the  water  of  life.  By  this  means, 
some  few  were  added  to  the  number  of  partakers  ; 
but,  in  the  main,  very  little  was  effected.  Many, 
disliking  the  constraint  and  embarrassment  it  imposed 
upon  them,  finally  began  to  absent  themselves  from 
church  on  such  occasions.  A  good  deal  of  dissatis 
faction  ensued ;  and  so  much  opposition  to  the  course 
at  last  arose,  that  it  was  found  expedient  to  abandon 
it,  although  a  return  to  the  old  method  was,  to  use 
Mr.  Judd's  own  words,  "  like  plunging  a  dagger  into 
his  heart." 


£60  RELATION    TO    THE    MINISTRY. 

THE    BIRTHRIGHT    CHURCH. 

As  years  elapsed  from  the  time  of  his  settlement, 
Mr.  Judd's  mind  had,  by  degrees,  become  more  and 
more  impressed  with  the  idea  that  the  prevailing 
sentiment  as  to  what  constitutes  church-membership 
is  erroneous  ;  and,  for  the  last  two  or  three  years  of 
his  labors,  his  attention  was  mainly  centralized  to 
this  one  point.  He  wrought  out  his  views  into  a 
regular  form,  which,  to  his  own  mind,  was  consistent 
and  truthful.  He  felt  that  they  were  of  vital  impor 
tance  to  the  welfare  of  the  church,  if  not,  indeed,  to 
its  preservation  as  a  distinct  organization.  He  felt, 
also,  that  his  maturity  of  years  entitled  him  to  speak 
out,  not  only  to  his  own  people,  but  to  the  world  at 
large,  the  conclusions  of  his  own  mind.  He  pre 
sented  them  in  a  distinct  manner  to  his  congregation ; 
he  brought  them  out  very  definitely  before  the  asso 
ciation  of  the  clergymen  of  his  denomination  in 
Maine  ;  he  introduced  them  to  the  Autumnal  Con 
vention  of  Unitarians  at  Baltimore  ;  he  prepared  to 
lay  them  before  a  clerical  audience  in  Boston,  —  all 
of  which  has  been  already  stated. 

His  fundamental  position  was,  that  the  church, 
equally  with  the  family  and  the  state,  is  of  divine 
appointment.  Touching  this  subject,  he  says,  "I 
would  have  the  church  resume  the  position  in  human 
society  which  God  designed  it  to  hold.  There  are 
three,  and  but  three,  great,  eternal,  and  divine  orga 
nizations  of  human  beings,  —  the  family,  the  state, 
the  church.  The  first  organizes  the  conjugal  ele 
ment  ;  the  second,  the  political  element ;  the  last,  the 


RELATION    TO   THE    MINISTRY.  261 

religious  element.  The  first  gives  us  a  home ;  the 
second,  a  country ;  the  third,  heaven.  The  symbol 
of  the  first  is  the  fireside ;  of  the  second,  in  ancient 
parlance,  a  throne ;  of  the  third,  the  altar.  These 
three  are  holy,  and  have  their  foundation  in  the 
unalterable  texture  and  appetency  of  the  human 
mind.  These  three,  in  a  true  community,  exist  in 
harmony ;  these  spheres  are  respectively  different. 
Over  and  in  and  through  the  whole  is  one  God, 
universal  Sovereign,  Legislator,  Father.  "While 
other  things,  needful  for  the  moment,  rise,  perform 
their  office,  and  pass  away,  these  alone  remain. 

"  In  each  of  these,  all  men  are.  To  each  of  them, 
every  human  being  sustains  a  fundamental  birth- 
relation.  We  are  born  into  the  family,  into  the 
state,  into  the  church.  We  continue  in  them  all, 
until,  by  due  process,  we  are  disowned  from  the 
first,  banished  from  the  second,  excommunicated 
from  the  last.  As  no  man  remembers  the  time 
when  he  began  to  be  in  the  state,  so  he  should  never 
know  the  time  when  he  began  to  be  in  the  church." 

He  continues :  "  God  entered  into  solemn  cove 
nant  with  Abraham,  and  with  his  seed  for  ever,  with 
the  special  promise,  that  in  him  all  nations  should 
be  blessed.  This  was  the  gospel,  Paul  tells  us, 
preached  before  unto  Abraham.  Under  that  cove 
nant,  a  church  was  gathered.  This  church  was  a 
heritage ;  into  it  the  children  were  born,  in  it  they 
were  trained  up ;  all  it  had,  it  gave  them.  This 
church  had  in  its  keeping  the  precious  promise  of 
universal  blessing,  and  the  great  doctrine  of  the  one 
God.  Christ  came  to  fulfil  the  oath  sworn  to  our 


262  RELATION    TO   THE    MINISTRY. 

father  Abraham,  that  all  nations  should  be  included 
in  the  covenant-blessings  of  God.  Christ  enlarges 
and  spiritualizes  the  old  covenant.  The  same  law 
of  transmission  and  continuity  holds.  Children  are 
born  into  the  Christian  church.  '  Of  such,'  says 
Christ,  'is  the  kingdom  of  God,'  —  the  new,  the 
all-comprehensive,  and  heavenly  dispensation.  The 
command  is,  'Feed  my  sheep,'  'Feed  my  lambs.' 
Peter  says,  '  The  promise  is  unto  you  and  to  your 
children.'  Paul  declares  the  children  of  believers 
are  holy.  The  new  era  is  inaugurated  ;  Christianity, 
as  we  call  it,  becomes  an  institution,  a  common 
wealth.  Whatever  other  changes,  there  is  none  in 
the  fundamental  principle,  that  the  church  transmits 
itself  by  natural  succession,  that  the  lambs  follow 
the  sheep,  that  children  are  trained  up  into  that 
which  their  parents  are." 

Mr.  Judd  maintained,  that  baptism  in  the  Chris 
tian  church,  as  circumcision  in  the  Jewish,  presup 
poses  a  church-estate ;  that  it  does  not  introduce 
into  the  church,  but  is  merely  the  seal  of  the  cove 
nant  eternally  existing  between  God  and  his  children 
and  their  seed  for  ever.  And  to  this  view  he  derives 
support  from  the  Cambridge  Platform  of  1648. 

He  did  not  regard  Baptism  and  the  Lord's  Supper 
as  the  only  ordinances  of  the  church.  His  own  words 
on  this  point  are  as  follows  :  "  The  church  is  not  that 
which  has  in  its  keeping,  and  observes,  the  sacraments 
of  the  Lord's  Supper  and  Baptism  alone.  These  are 
ordinances,  but  not  all  the  ordinances.  Preaching 
is  an  ordinance,  public  prayer  is  an  ordinance  ;  and 
one  ordinance  is  as  sacred  as  another.  The  church 


RELATION    TO    THE    MINISTRY.  263 

comprehends  all  the  ordinances.  They  are  all  parts 
of  Christian  service,  all  means  of  grace  alike.  Its 
peculiar  devotional  ordinance  is  prayer,  its  peculiar 
church-ordinance  is  singing,  its  peculiar  instructional 
ordinance  is  preaching,  its  peculiar  festal  and  com 
memorative  ordinance  is  the  Lord's  Supper. 

"  The  idea  of  the  church  implies  all  these  things  ; 
one  as  much  as  another,  the  whole  as  well  as  a 
part.  I  would  root  out  the  notion,  that  a  part  of  the 
church-services  are  for  one  set  of  people,  and  another 
part  for  another.  In  entering  the  church,  I  would 
have  every  man  enter  the  whole  reality  that  the 
church  is.  I  would  have  the  masses  and  the  chil 
dren  feel  and  acknowledge  that  the  whole  church  is 
theirs  ;  not  only  its  sabbath,  and  its  Bible,  and  its 
singing,  but  its  communion  likewise.  I  would  do 
away  with  the  notion,  that  a  different  moral,  spirit 
ual,  or  religious  responsibility  rests  upon  one  more 
than  upon  another.  If  it  is  the  duty  of  one  man  to 
pray,  it  is  the  duty  of  all  men  to  pray.  If  it  is  a  sin 
for  one  man  to  dance,  it  is  a  sin  for  all  men  to  dance. 
If  it  is  the  duty  of  one  man  to  partake  of  the  com 
munion,  it  is  the  duty  of  all  men." 

The  object  of  the  church  he  considered  to  be 
"  Christian  nurture,  regeneration,  or  the  birth  of  the 
spirit,  the  communication  of  the  life  of  God  and 
spirit  of  Jesus  to  the  soul  of  man ;  and  that  children 
were  to  grow  up  Christians  in  the  church,  and  not 
out  of  it ;  that  the  outward  fertilizers,  or  means  of 
growth,  were  the  sabbath,  prayer,  singing,  the 
preached  word,  and  the  communion  of  the  body  and 
blood  of  Christ." 


264  RELATION    TO    THE    MINISTRY. 

These  ideas  he  claims  to  have  been  originally 
implied  in  the  gospel,  and  practised  upon  in  the 
early  ages  of  Christianity.  Here  are  his  own  words 
again :  "  The  gospel  did  originally  embrace  children. 
Christ,  if  I  may  so  say,  laid  the  foundations  of  his 
kingdom  in  the  heart  of  childhood.  The  '  new 
covenant,'  the  enlargement  of  the  Abrahamic  cove 
nant,  threw  itself  about  infancy,  and  girdled,  with 
its  promises,  its  sanctity,  and  its  beatitudes,  the  gene 
rations  as  they  rose.  But  something  intervened  to 
prevent  the  progress  of  Christianity  towards  its  con 
summation  in  the  ages ;  something  intervened  to 
suspend  the  beautiful  law  of  nature  and  of  God, 
whereby  what  is  most  blest  and  most  pure  descends 
from  father  to  son.  This  hindrance  was  the  doctrine 
of  total  depravity,  a  correlative  and  offshoot  from 
the  dogma  of  the  Trinity ;  a  monstrosity  in  human 
speculation,  an  unheard-of  thing  in  the  history  of 
philosophy,  a  Upas-tree  in  the  fair  field  of  the  evan 
gelical  dispensation.  Through  the  monk  Augus 
tine,  this  came ;  it  got  into  the  Christian  church ;  it 
was  decreed  orthodoxy.  Like  a  dyke  it  rose,  right 
in  the  midst  of  the  fairest  flow  of  things  the  world 
has  ever  seen ;  like  a  volcano,  it  was  upheaved  in 
the  midst  of  the  most  beautiful  scheme  that  ever 
gladdened  the  eye  of  an  angel,  and  distorted  every 
thing,  turned  currents  out  of  their  course,  and  filled 
the  bed  of  a  pure  Christianism  with  blackened  scoria, 
and  all  horrid  shapes  of  wild  and  woful  thought. 

"  The  old  covenant  that  comprised  children  with 
their  parents  is  broken.  The  children  are  born 
corrupt,  of  the  devil,  out  of  the  Christian  pale.  In  a 


RELATION    TO   THE   MINISTRY.  265 

word,  as  I  have  said,  this  dogma  unchurched  all  the 
children ;  it  flung  the  generations,  as  they  rose,  loose 
out  into  the  world ;  it  broke  the  goodly  covenant- 
relation  Christ  made  with  his  children  and  his  chil 
dren's  children  for  ever." 

And  now,  he  says,  "  We  come  to  a  pause  in  human 
affairs,  so  far  as  Christianism  is  concerned.  We  see 
the  whole  church  is  thrown  into  a  dilemma.  Ever 
more  the  question  presses,  '  What  shall  we  do  with 
the  children  ? '  e  Water-baptism  is  regenerative,'  the 
high  priests  of  the  new  school  said.  '  Baptize  the 
children,  and  we  shall  cure  their  depravity,  renew 
their  natures,  and  thus  recover  them  to  the  church.' 
So  things  went  on  for  some  centuries.  After  a  sort, 
the  children  were  huddled  back,  like  melancholy 
lambs,  into  a  fold  from  which  they  had  been  rudely 
driven. 

"Calvin  and  Luther,  still  holding  firmly  by  the 
Trinity  and  total  depravity,  yet  had  the  common 
sense  to  see  that  water  could  not  purge  the  soul ; 
and,  while  they  admitted  infant-baptism,  they  still 
suffered  the  infant  to  be  out  of  the  church.  They 
baptized  the  innocent  vagabond,  and  then  let  it  run 
wild  still.  At  least,  this  is  the  final  result  of  Cal 
vinism,  or  the  older  Augustinianism,  in  America. 

"  The  consequence,"  he  adds,  "  is,  that,  in  the 
United  States  at  least,  nine-tenths  of  the  people  are 
growing  up,  in  a  technical  sense,  sinners,  unchristian, 
unholy,  prayerless,  hopeless.  The  covenant  which 
God  made  with  Abraham,  that  in  him,  through 
Christ,  all  nations  should  be  blessed,  —  a  covenant 
with  him  and  his  seed  after  him  to  all  generations,  — 

23 


266  RELATION    TO    THE    MINISTRY. 

is  broken ;  the  promise  that  these  great  blessings 
were  to  us  and  our  children  is  falsified  ;  the  cardinal 
principle  that  children  are  of  the  kingdom  of  God  is 
set  at  nought,  and  the  beautiful  law  of  religious 
perpetuity  interrupted  for  ever.  A  single  thing,  a 
little  thing  apparently,  a  short  paragraph,  a  penful 
of  ink,  —  the  doctrine  of  total  depravity,  —  has  done 
all  this." 

"  What  now  calls  itself  the  church  and  Christian 
is  a  little  knot  of  people  in  Christendom,  a  few  scores 
in  what  is  called  a  society,  a  few  hundreds  in  our 
towns,  —  in  no  sort  of  covenant-relation  even  with 
their  own  wives  or  husbands,  fathers  or  mothers, 
brothers  or  sisters,  sons  or  daughters ;  a  little  knot, 
I  say,  and  all  the  rest  is  the  world,  —  Christendom, 
not  gentildom ;  not  so  good  as  that,  but  devildom. 

"  Next,  what  ?  Invariably,  inevitably,  this  :  these 
few  must  try  salvatory  measures  on  the  great  multi 
tude  of  outsiders.  But  how  many  shall  be  saved  ? 
The  elect,  says  ultra-Calvinism.  We  must  preach 
to  all,  but  expect  to  save  only  a  few,  says  a  more 
moderate  Calvinism.  Do  not  dispute  about  these 
things,  says  Methodism ;  but  make  a  rush,  and  save 
as  many  as  you  can.  TJniversalism  hushes  the  whole 
trouble,  and  says,  Never  you  mind,  all  will  be  saved. 
Unitarianism,  —  horresco  referens,  —  legitimate  de 
scendant  of  the  old-church  patriarchs  and  prophets, 
of  the  Messiah  and  the  apostles,  —  sole  heir  of  a  gor 
geous  and  a  divine  antiquity,  —  sighs  and  takes  on  ; 
does  not  know  ;  tries ;  is,  like  Ephraim, '  a  silly  dove, 
without  heart :  they  call  to  Egypt,  they  go  to  As- 
yria.' 


RELATION    TO    THE    MINISTRY.  267 

"  The  great  question  now  is,  How  shall  we  get 
men  into  the  church  ?  The  voice  of  the  true  church 
cries  even  in  the  false  church,  Give  me  back  my 
children.  Now,  to  get  people  back  into  the  church, 
Romanism,  or  the  Catholicism  of  the  fourth  century, 
devised  the  scheme  of  water-regeneration.  This 
alone  saved  the  church  of  that  time  from  extinction. 
So  in  the  English  Church,  the  latent,  perhaps,  yet 
really  vital,  question  of  all  questions  is,  How  shall 
we  get  the  people  into  the  church  ?  And  that  sect 
also  baptizes  them  in." 

In  New  England,  Mr.  Judd  instances  the  revival- 
system  as  a  means  of  replenishing  a  wasting  church. 
He  recognizes  the  fact,  that,  in  this  cause,  devout 
clergymen  have  labored  and  worn  out  health  and 
life,  and  yet  this  system  is  found  to  be  a  failure. 
He  shows,  by  many  statistics,  that  the  proportion 
of  church-members  at  this  day,  compared  with 
forefathers'  time,  "  has  dwindled  into  a  small,  and  is 
yearly  dwindling  into  a  smaller,  minority."  "The 
world,"  he  says,  "is  every  year  gaining  on  the 
church.  Revivals,  the  grand  harvest-seasons  of 
the  church,  are  losing  their  power.  With  paper  and 
pencil,  one  can  easily  figure  out  the  final  issue." 
He  notices  the  heart-sickness  and  discouragement  of 
many  ministers,  —  "  This  having  a  sacred  rite,  and 
having  so  few  to  attend  it ;  seeing  the  multitudes 
going  away ;  seeking  to  get  them  to  it  j  blamed  if 
there  be  no  increase ;  feeling  as  if  they  would  aban 
don  the  whole  thing  ;  coming  almost  to  despise  what 
they  tenderly  love ;  shaping  a  sermon  for  their 
object,  now  this  way,  now  that ;  some  tempted  to 


£68  RELATION    TO   THE    MINISTRY. 

demolish  the  pale  and  have  no  church,  others  pain 
fully  struggling  to  augment  its  numbers." 

And  then,  in  the  discourse  upon  this  subject  from 
which  the  above  summary  of  his  views  has  been 
deduced,  he  comes  to  this  general  conclusion :  "  I 
see  no  possible  escape  from  these  difficulties,  but 
first  to  depress  the  pale  wholly  out  of  sight,  and  then 
to  bring  it  up,  with  a  wider  sweep,  around  the  whole 
worshipping  congregation.  I  know  of  no  other  way 
of  restoration  than  that  whereby  the  children  of 
Christian  parents  may  be  included  in  the  Christian 
covenant  and  pale,  the  system  of  forms  and  doctrines, 
and  the  sphere  of  blessings  and  responsibilities,  in 
which  their  parents  are.  I  mean,  that  whatever  may 
be  the  highest  Christian  institutions  known  to  Chris 
tendom  ;  whatever  be  conceived  to  be  the  most  sacred 
communion  and  fellowship;  whatever  typifies  the 
highest  Christian  experience,  or  points  most  pecu 
liarly  to  the  supreme  relation  we  hold  to  God,  Christ, 
and  the  moral  universe,  —  that  into  that,  most  essen 
tially,  most  integrally,  most  fully,  the  children  be 
admitted ;  and,  inasmuch  as  the  church  does  stand 
for  the  highest  Christian  institution,  and  is  the  most 
sacred  communion  and  fellowship,  and  typifies  the 
deepest  Christian  experience,  and  the  supreme  rela 
tion  we  sustain  to  God  and  Christ  and  the  moral 
universe,  into  that  church  the  children  should  be 
admitted.  More  than  admitted ;  that  into  it  they  be 
born ;  that  of  it  they  form  a  part ;  insomuch  that 
they  shall  never  know  the  time  when  they  were  not 
in  and  of  it,  any  more  than  they  know  the  time  when 
they  began  to  be  citizens  of  the  state,  or  when  the 


RELATION    TO   THE    MINISTRY.  269 

first  summer  morning  shed  its  sweet  beams  upon 
them,  or  the  first  sabbath  enfolded  them  in  its  sanc 
tity  and  rest.  If  there  be  a  school  of  highest  Chris 
tian  discipline,  a  circle  of  highest  Christian  culture, 
a  theatre  of  highest  Christian  action,  a  place  of  high 
est  Christian  life,  peace,  enjoyment,  I  contend  that 
not  only  the  children,  but  the  great  mass  of  the 
community,  should  be  included  in  it.  And  such  a 
school,  circle,  theatre,  place,  is  the  church.  I  would 
take  this  which  we  call  the  church,  with  all  its  awful- 
ness  and  beauty,  all  its  beatitudes  and  obligations, 
and  not  wait  to  see  if  I  can  get  here  and  there  a  man 
into  it,  but  take  it  and  carry  it  right  under  the  whole 
bulk  of  the  rising  generation,  and  endeavor  that  they 
shall  all  be  in  it.  I  would  carry  it  under  the  yet 
unborn  generations,  and  see  to  it  that  all  share  in  it 
as  their  birthright." 

In  carrying  out  this  idea,  he  adds,  "  Where  the 
ground  is  open,  I  would  cease  to  gather  people  in 
what  are  called  societies,  with  a  peradventure  that 
by  and  by  they  will  organize  within  the  society  a 
coterie  called  the  church,  to  be  by  and  by  increased 
by  additions  from  without.  I  would  gather  people 
in  church-estate,  and  no  otherwise,  and  at  once  and 
for  ever.  I  would  gather  them  and  their  fami- 
milies  for  the  whole  blessing  that  the  church  is : 
they  should  be  committed  to  the  Bible,  the  sabbath, 
the  preaching,  the  communion,  alike.  If  people  are 
not  fit  to  come  together  in  this  way,  they  are  not  fit 
to  come  together  at  all.  Religious  or  Christian 
society  defines  the  word  church ;  and  any  man  that 
is  fit  to  be  a  member  of  a  Christian  society  is  fit  to 

23* 


270  RELATION    TO   THE    MINISTRY. 

be  of  the  church.  Any  man  that  is  fit  to  unite  in 
one  church-ordinance,  be  it  singing  or  prayer,  is  fit 
to  unite  in  another,  even  the  communion.  So  that 
if  the  question  were  upon  starting  a  new  Unitarian 
society,  so  called,  in  any  place,  the  real  thing  should 
be  the  forming  of  a  new  Unitarian  church. 

"  I  would  bring  people  together  with  the  feeling, 
that,  if  they  accept  one  ordinance  of  the  gospel,  they 
are  bound  to  accept  the  whole ;  that,  if  there  be  a 
special  centre  of  sanctity,  or  holy  influence  and  rege 
nerative  impression,  there,  if  nowhere  else,  all  are 
bound  to  be.  If  I  am  a  pastor,  and  the  people 
are  my  flock,  and  there  be  any  one  place  where  the 
grass  is  greener  and  the  waters  clearer  than  in  another, 
there,  by  all  obligations  of  the  soul  and  God,  am  I 
bound  to  take  them  all.  If  Christ  is  bread  and 
water,  I  am  bound  to  give  him  to  all  who  need  sal 
vation. 

"  As  to  existing  things,  I  would  have  our  societies, 
sjo  called,  become  churches  as  rapidly  as  possible.  I 
would  have  a  religious  society  feel  that  it  is  a  church, 
and  realize  at  once  all  the  grandeur  of  its  position 
and  vastness  of  its  obligations.  I  wish  all  people  at 
once  to  enter  upon  all  its  ordinances,  all  its  privi 
leges,  and  all  its  duties.  Especially,  I  wish  that  all 
the  children  should  be  brought  at  once  into  their  true 
church-position,  and  be  trained  up,  now  and  ever 
more,  in  the  central  sanctity,  the  holy  of  holies  of  the 
Christian  dispensation." 

In  still  more  extended  furtherance  of  this  idea, 
Mr.  Judd  says  :  "  Inasmuch  as  our  country  has  cer 
tain  political  divisions  called  States,  and  these  divi- 


RELATION    TO    THE   MINISTRY.  271 

sions  represent  a  certain  amount  of  available  and 
suggestive  unity,  I  would  have  all  the  churches  in  a 
State  form  a  general  church  of  the  State  ;  the  bond 
of  union  and  centre  of  action  to  be  a  State  Asso 
ciation.  .  .  . 

"  I  believe  that  if  the  church  would  in  this  way 
adjust  itself,  I  will  not  say  to  the  world,  but  to  the 
community  in  the  midst  of  which  it  is ;  if  it  would 
become  the  open,  free  vehicle  of  divinest  Christian 
ideas  to  the  masses  and  to  the  children  ;  if  it  would 
fold  in  its  central  sanctity  the  generations  as  they 
rise ;  if,  instead  of  reserving  to  itself,  it  would  give 
out  its  most  sacred,  its  heavenly  food,  and  commu 
nion  and  hope,  to  its  own  children  born  into  it,  — 
we  should  witness  such  a  development  of  spirituality, 
such  an  advancement  in  all  Christian  virtue,  such  a 
progress  of  the  age  to  millennial  glory,  as  history 
has  never  yet  recorded.  I  do  say,  that  on  the  pre 
sent  church- system  the  millennium  can  never  come, 
—  never  !  It  recedes  every  year." 

In  a  sermon  entitled  "The  Communion  for 
Sinners,"  he. asks,  "What  is  involved  in  the  par 
ticipation  of  these  emblems  ?  what  in  becoming  a 
communicant  of  the  body  and  blood  of  Christ  ?  " 

He  answers,  "  Not  that  a  man  assents  to  a  creed, 
not  that  he  can  answer  a  series  of  theological  ques 
tions  that  may  be  propounded  to  him,  —  a  clear  head 
for  theology  and  a  simple  heart  for  the  ordinances 
being  distinct  things  ;  not  that  the  opinions  of  others 
are  of  consequence,  that  we  satisfy  everybody  or 
anybody ;  nor  that  participation  implies  that  a  man 
is  not  a  sinner,  or  that  he  is  regenerated,  but  that  a 


RELATION    TO   THE    MINISTRY. 

man  should  desire  to  receive  whatever  the  sacrament 
is  fitted  to  give ;  that  it  is  not  so  much  a  test  as  an 
aid  of  character ;  that  it  is  the  earnest  of  hope,  as 
well  as  the  reward  of  attainment ;  that  it  does  not 
declare  that  one  is  good,  but  that  he  would  be  good ; 
not  that  he  has  experienced  salvation,  but  that  he  is 
looking  forward  to  it ;  and  that  the  communion 
does  not  offer  itself  to  the  confirmed  believer  exclu 
sively." 

He  then  inquires  into  the  direct  and  immediate 
effects  of  the  emblems,  and  finds  it,  not  miraculous, 
not  mysterious,  not  possessing  any  intrinsic  efficacy 
nor  any  virtue  from  sacerdotal  consecration ;  but 
mainly  suggestive  and  associative ;  as  a  summary  of 
his  life  and  death ;  a  condensed  gospel ;  a  visible 
token  of  great  invisibilities ;  silent  preachers,  an 
inarticulate  utterance  of  profound  truths  ;  as  awak 
ening  personal  questions  of  salvation  by  him  ;  as 
epitomizing  the  highest  truths  of  the  religion  of 
Christ. 

He  said  it  was  necessarily  implied  that  a  man, 
though  a  sinner,  must  have  some  interest,  some 
earnestness,  some  faith,  some  desires  to  be  a  better 
man. 

He  contended,  that,  if  the  sinner  may  partake  of 
the  benefits  of  the  blood  of  Christ,  and  find  therein 
cleansing,  health,  and  salvation,  he  may  also  partici 
pate  in  the  emblem  which  typifies  that  blood ;  if  the 
sinner,  however  vile,  or  however  gross  his  depravity, 
may  be  urged  to  come  to  Christ ;  then,  if  the  bread 
and  the  wine  do  in  any  degree  aid  the  approach  to 
Christ,  may  he  be  urged  to  partake  of  these  em- 


RELATION    TO   THE    MINISTRY.  £73 

blems  ;  and  if  the  symbols  are  too  holy  to  be  touched 
by  profane  hands,  how  much  more  should  Christ, 
the  eternal  substance  of  this  fleeting  shadow,  be 
deemed  too  holy  for  the  approach  of  sinners  ! 

He  regarded  the  communion  as  a  means  of  grace, 
a  means  of  bringing  sinners  to  Jesus,  a  means  which 
like  prayer,  like  the  sabbath,  like  preaching,  God 
will  bless  to  our  redemption  and  ultimate  sanctifica- 
tion. 

With  such  views  in  regard  to  Christian  nurture 
and  church-relationship,  as  may  well  be  supposed, 
Mr.  Judd  took  great  interest  in  the  training  of  chil 
dren — in  the  impressions  which  young  minds  should 
receive.  Even  before  he  became  a  pastor  or  a  father, 
as  early  as  1838,  he  could  find  no  better  subject  for 
a  lyceum  lecture  in  his  Northampton  home  than 
"Children."  As  is  shown  in  the  previous  pages,  in 
the  early  part  of  his  ministry  he  commenced  bring 
ing  them  under  the  gentle  teachings  and  moral  in 
fluences  of  nature,  in  the  rural  May  walks  to  which 
he  invited  them.  However  much  he  might  be 
pressed  with  various  labors,  on  some  beautiful  morn 
ing  in  the  month  of  May,  he  would  have  all  the 
children  of  his  charge  —  and  but  too  happy  if  any 
others  would  join  them  —  gather  around  his  cottage, 
from  which  he  would  lead  them  forth  to  witness  the 
fresh  resurrection  of  nature,  to  gather  wild  spring- 
flowers,  and  listen  to  the  vernal  greeting  of  the 
merry  wood-birds. 

In  the  same  spirit  he  met  the  young  ladies  of  his 
flock,  for  literary,  social,  and  moral  culture.  He 
preached  occasional  sermons  to  young  men.  To  im- 


274  RELATION    TO    THE    MINISTRY. 

press  the  fathers  and  mothers  with  a  sense  of  their 
responsibility,  he  wrote  in  his  own  unique  manner 
the  sermon,  which,  after  being  delivered  to  his  own 
people,  was  published  in  the  newspapers  under  the 
title  of  "  The  Little  Coat ; "  the  text  being  —  "  His 
mother  made  him  a  little  coat."  Passing  from  the 
letter  "to  the  spirit  of  the  subject,  he  speaks  of  cloth 
ing  for  the  mind  and  the  soul;  and  endeavors  to 
impress  mothers  that  they  should  be  more  solicitous 
about  such  little  coats,  than  for  the  fashions  of  frocks, 
jackets,  or  other  garments  of  the  body. 

"  I  meet  a  man  in  the  streets,"  he  says,  "  literally 
clothed  in  rags  ;  clothed  also  with  manifold  tokens 
of  a  depraved  life.  I  ask,  Did  not  his  mother,  when 
he  was  young,  make  him  a  little  coat  ?  When  I  see 
a  person  clothed  in  humility,  entertaining  a  modest 
sense  of  himself  and  a  just  estimate  of  others,  un 
ostentatiously  attaching  himself  to  great  principles, 
meekly  waiting  the  will  of  God,  reverent  of  truth, 
and  supple  to  goodness,  I  am  allowed  to  conceive, 
that,  when  he  was  young,  his  mother  made  for  him 
a  little  coat.  .  .  . 

"  These  coats  last  a  long  time.  Children  shall 
wear  them  when  parents  are  dead ;  they  shall  wear 
them  in  distant  lands  ;  that  old  family  style  shall 
show  itself  in  many  places  and  times.  What  sort 
of  clothes  are  you  making  for  your  children  ?  Is 
their  vesture  wisdom  or  folly  ?  Is  it  the  true  beauty 
of  goodness,  or  a  poor  imitation  from  the  drapers  ? 
Your  words,  your  acts,  go  to  make  up  this  clothing. 
Something  you  did  yesterday  becomes  part  of  a  gar 
ment  your  child  must  wear  many  years.  .  .  . 


RELATION    TO    THE    MINISTRY.  275 

"  Young  mother,  a  naked  spirit  comes  to  your 
hands  as  well  as  a  naked  body.  You  have  prepared 
clothing  for  the  last :  shall  the  first  go  unendued, 
picking  up  what  it  may  wear  at  haphazard  ?  Is  the 
body  of  your  child  all  you  have  thought  about  ?  It 
is  yours  to  dress  a  new,  living  spirit ;  to  cut  out  and 
make  for  it  celestial  attire  ;  it  is  yours  to  give  it  the 
robe  of  immortality.  Your  older  children  are  even 
now  wearing  coats  you  made  for  them  years  ago. 
Do  you  like  them  ?  Is  it  a  garment  of  praise  ? 
Have  they  a  character  which  you  would  wish  them 
to  wear  for  ever  ?  But  the  child  you  are  dressing 
for  almost  the  first  time,  —  for  whom  you  are  making 
his  first  little  coat,  —  what  shall  he  be  ?  .... 

"  Make  the  little  coat,  O  mother !  Make  it  so 
that  it  will  be  no  disgrace  to  him  before  God  .or  his 
fellow-men  to  be  seen  in  it ;  so  make  it  that  it  will 
be  to  him  a  robe  of  dignity  and  esteem  in  the  world, 
and  a  robe  spotless  and  bright  in  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  for  ever." 

After  his  ideas  as  to  the  birth-relation  to  the 
church  had  been  accepted,  and  in  due  form  concurred 
in,  by  all  his  people,  and  they  had  asserted  and  as 
sumed  their  responsibility  as  a  Christian  church,  in 
a  sermon  with  reference  to  their  new  position,  he 
asks  :  "  What  then  ?  Is  this  the  end  ?  'Tis  only 
the  beginning.  Now  the  great  work  of  life  fairly 
commences,  to  be  continued  through  time,  and  per 
petuate  itself  in  the  endless  years  of  our  futurity." 

He  then  began  a  series  of  discourses  on  "  Chris 
tian  Education."  In  one,  he  maintained  that  we 
think  in  words.  In  another,  his  object  was  to  show 


RELATION    TO   THE    MINISTRY. 

the  force  of  the  words  that  children  are  educated  to 
use,  and  that  become  with  them  familiar,  household 
words,  in  forming  their  character  intellectually,  mo 
rally,  and  religiously.  He  showed  that  we  become 
what  we  are  educated  to  be,  and  that  we  may  be 
come  Christians  by  being  educated  to  Christianity, 
according  to  the  wise  man,  —  "  Train  up  a  child  in 
the  way  he  should  go,  and,  when  he  is  old,  he  will 
not  depart  from  it."  He  would  have  children  taught 
forms  of  words  like  the  following  :  "  God  is  my 
Father  ;  I  am  his  child.  Christ  is  my  Shepherd  ;  I 
am  his  lamb.  The  church  is  my  company ;  at  its 
altars  I  commune.  I  am  a  Christian,  and  am  to  be 
like  Christ." 

In  answer  to  objections  made  by  some  of  his 
people  to  admitting  children  to  the  communion,  he 
appealed  to  that  saying  of  Jesus,  "  Of  such  is  the 
kingdom  of  heaven,"  and  maintained  that,  if  fit  for 
the  kingdom  of  heaven,  they  were  fit  for  the  com 
munion  of  saints  on  earth. 

UNITARIANISM. 

While  Mr.  Judd,  as  a  Christian  minister,  ranked 
himself  under  the  name  of  Unitarian,  he  was  no 
sectarian.  He  was  willing  to  exchange  with  other 
professedly  Christian  ministers  who  would  exchange 
with  him.  He  was  ready  —  nay,  his  heart  yearned 
—  to  be  in  fellowship  with  all  the  good,  of  whatever 
name  ;  and  he  believed  the  truly  good  were  to  be 
found  under  every  name.  How  much  he  longed 
for  Christian  intercourse  on  common  ground  among 


RELATION    TO    THE    MINISTRY.  277 

ministers  of  different  denominations,  —  that  different 
sects  should  unite  in  love,  —  has  already  appeared 
in  the  foregoing  narrative.  He  would,  as  "  Philo  " 
has  it,  that  — 

"  The  roses  white  and  red  of  conflict  long, 
And  vile  religious  enmities,  be  tied 
In  beautiful  bouquets  of  fellowship." 

He  believed  that  different  sects  would  love  each 
other,  if  they  dared  to  meet  in  Christian  intercourse, 
and  become  acquainted.  He  had  great  faith  in 
human  nature,  and  gave  due  credit  to  the  conscien 
tious  convictions  of  those  who  differed  from  him. 
For  religious  controversy  he  had  a  great  distaste  ; 
and  in  it  he  never  mingled.  He  recognized  the 
opposition  of  other  denominations,  but  opposed  their 
opinions  only  in  self-defence.  The  simple  gospel 
was  his  creed  ;  and,  in  his  preaching,  he  loved  to 
dwell  upon  that  which  affects  the  heart  rather  than 
that  which  alone  reaches  the  intellect. 

Yet  he  had  definite  doctrinal  opinions  which  to 
him  were  of  inestimable  value.  The  doctrine  of 
total  depravity  he  considered  the  fatal  root  of  all 
religious  error.  Difficulty  in  receiving  this  was 
what  first  shook  his  faith  in  Calvinism,  and  what,  at 
length,  became  the  turning-point  in  his  renouncing 
that  faith.  With  that,  as  a  matter  of  course,  fell  his 
belief  in  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity.  He  delighted 
in  the  idea  of  the  entire  Unity  of  the  Great  Supreme, 
the  Lord,  God  over  all,  and  the  unity  existing  in  all 
his  works,  which  binds  all  to  him,  and  each  to  all. 
In  discussing  this  idea,  so  glorious  to  his  mind,  he 

24 


£78  RELATION    TO    THE    MINISTRY. 

would  revel  in  and  exhaust  the  whole  vocabulary  of 
unitary  words  in  the  language,  and  still  coin  others 
to  suit  his  purpose. 

In  this  light,  he  gloried  in  the  name  Unitarian, 
and  maintained  for  Unitarianism  the  highest  rank 
and  antiquity. 

"  As  a  Unitarian,"  he  says,  "  I  believe  in  the 
simple,  whole,  unqualified  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus. 
Unitarianism,  as  I  understand  it,  is  the  gospel  itself; 
it  is  this,  I  mean,  to  my  own  mind ;  it  is  this  to  me, 
or  it  is  nothing.  If  I  did  not  suppose  Unitarianism 
to  represent  the  gospel,  as  it  came  virginal,  verdant, 
beautiful,  from  the  hands  of  its  God,  I  should  cease 
to  be  a  Unitarian.  Unitarianism  is  not  merely  a 
denial  of  certain  things,  nor  an  affirmation  of  certain 
other  things  :  it  is  the  spirit  and  substance  of  the 
gospel  itself.  It  is  that,  or,  to  me,  nothing." 

And  again  :  "  I  seem  to  be  taking  it  for  granted, 
that  devotion  to  what  we  call  Unitarianism  is  a 
devotion  to  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus.  I  do  indeed. 
It  is  this,  or  it  is  nothing,  I  repeat.  It  is  this,  or 
palsied  be  this  tongue  ere  it  should  utter  a  syllable 
in  its  behalf." 

A  few  other  passages  bearing  upon  this  point 
deserve  a  place  in  this  connection  :  — 

"  Unitarianism  destroys  nothing  :  it  restores.  It 
breaks  off  the  withes  wherein  divine  truth  is  bound, 
and  liberates  it.  Take  Christ  away  from  humanity, 
and  you  degrade  humanity.  Unitarianism,  by  bring 
ing  Christ  back  from  an  unnatural  and  factitious 
place  in  the  universe,  and  restoring  him  to  the 
world  as  an  elder  brother,  elevates  humanity ;  and 


RELATION    TO    THE    MINISTRY.  279 

in  Christ  every  one  becomes  a  brother  of  man  and  a 
child  of  God 

"  But  why,  you  ask,  care  aught  about  the  name, 
if  you  only  have  the  thing  ?  I  think  I  do  not. 
Give  us  the  substance  of  the  matter,  and  perish 
names,  I  say.  What  is  the  substance  of  the  matter  ? 
That  the  church  should  fall  back  on  the  simple 
gospel ;  that  it  should  leave  the  deserts  and  fast 
nesses  and  briery  ways  of  creeds  and  denomination, 
and  come  into  the  happy  valley  of  love  and  evan 
gelical  feeling ;  demolish  its  idols,  its  popes,  its 
Calvins,  its  metaphysics,  and  return  to  the  sanctuary, 
the  corner-stone  of  which  is  Jesus,  laid  in  Jerusalem  ; 
the  pillars  of  which  extend  *  down  through  all  time  ; 
the  worship  of  which  is  in  the  spirit,  and,  being  so, 
is  one  in  heaven  and  one  on  the  earth.' 

"  What  is  Unitarianism  ?  It  is  a  system  of  abso 
lute  truth,  even  as  Christianity  is.  It  is  not  the 
side  of  any  thing  :  it  is  many-sided  in  itself.  It 
covers  the  whole  of  what  is,  the  same  as  God  does. 
It  is  not  an  exigency,  or  experiment,  or  device,  or 
temporary  want :  it  is  essential,  continuous,  con 
temporaneous  with  rational  being,  profound  as  the 
soul,  enduring  as  the  eternity  of  God,  in  which  its 
own  life  is,  and  its  aim  is  perfected.  It  is  not  a  cold 
system :  it  is  warm,  genial,  vivifying  as  the  Sun  of 
Righteousness,  which  is  its  central  beam.  It  is  not 
simply  a  critical  system :  it  is  experimental,  opera 
tive.  While  it  judges,  it  produces  ;  and  wherein  it 
is  most  keen  and  searching,  that  is  but  the  develop 
ment  of  its  own  purest  vitality.  It  is  not  simply 
an  intellectual  system  :  it  touches  the  feelings,  it 


280  RELATION    TO   THE    MINISTRY. 

thrills  all  chords  of  rational  sensation ;  it  weeps 
with  Jesus,  it  energizes  with  Paul ;  in  the  darkest 
day,  its  face  may  be  seen  to  shine  like  an  angel's 
with  Stephen. 

"It  affirms  the  unity  of  the  revelations  of  God 
in  Scripture  and  in  nature.  It  takes  along  with 
itself  human  reason  ;  it  takes  along  with  itself  na 
ture  ;  it  explains  the  mission  of  Christ,  —  explains 
it  ?  is  it,  —  the  gathering  of  all  things  into  one,  the 
making  of  twain  one,  the  reconciliation,  the  atone 
ment,  the  propitiation,  the  communion  of  saints,  the 
return  of  the  prodigal,  faith  and  repentance,  the  one 
body,  the  one  church." 

He  maintained  that  the  Unitarian  church  is  not 
a  departure  from  the  word  of  God,  but  a  return  to 
it;  that  it  is  orthodox,  because  it  possesses  sound 
doctrine,  according  to  reason  and  scripture ;  is  ca 
tholic,  as  seeing  all  men  one  in  Christ ;  apostolic,  as 
having  the  foundation  of  the  apostles ;  evangelical, 
as  adhering  to  the  whole  scope  and  spirit  of  Chris 
tianity. 

"  The  doctrines  of  Unitarianism,"  he  says,  "  what 
are  they  not?  Whatever  Christ  taught,  whatever 
prophet  has  uttered  or  martyr  died  for ;  whatever 
truth  God  from  creation  has  been  pouring,  from  the 
bright  urn  of  central  reality,  over  the  realms  of 
nature,  or  into  the  recesses  of  the  soul,  —  these  are 
its  doctrines. 

"  Unitarianism  expresses  a  great  idea,  the  greatest' 
and  profoundest  of  theological  ideas.  If  there  be 
those  who  see  in  it  nothing  but  sectarian  partiality 
and  narrowness,  I  am  sorry  ;  I  do  not.  Considered 


RELATION   TO    THE    MINISTRY.  281 

as  a  name  rejected  by  the  multitude,  and  welcomed 
by  the  few,  in  that  sense,  perhaps,  it  is  sectarian. 
But,  considered  as  the  name  for  God's  everlasting 
truth,  it  is  not  sectarian.  It  expresses  the  highest 
truth  of  God,  the  universe,  man. 

"  But  what  do  I  mean  by  Unitarianism  ?  In 
what  sense  do  I  use  the  word  ?  In  its  plain,  natural, 
and  strict  sense  ;  as  expressive  of  the  great  unity 
that  God  is,  that  all  things  are  in  God ;  as  expres 
sive  of  this  fact,  that  above  the  heavens  and  beneath 
the  foundations  of  the  earth,  and  through  all  space 
and  time,  God  is,  God  sole  and  indivisible  ;  that 
Christ  is  no  part  of  God  or  person  of  the  Godhead, 
but  is  included  in  the  circumference  of  the  Unity  of 
God.  Before  there  was  any  Bible  or  any  Adam, 
or  any  Christ,  God  was,  one  and  indivisible ;  and  out 
of  this  oneness  or  Unitarianism  of  God  came  the 
earth  and  its  beauty,  Adam  and  his  fleshy  nature, 
Christ  and  his  spiritual  nature,  man  and  his  immor 
tal  nature. 

"  I  mean,  then,  by  the  term  Unitarianism,  that 
which  expresses  the  spirit  in  which  the  Bible  was 
conceived,  and  the  only  true  method  of  its  interpre 
tation.  I  mean  by  it  the  unity,  the  harmony  of 
God  and  man,  time  and  eternity,  religion  and  life, 
religion  and  recreation,  religion  and  reason,  religion 
and  nature  ;  the  unity,  the  harmony  of  man  and 
man,  nation  and  nation,  things  angelic  and  things 
terrestrial;  or,  in  the  language  of  the  apostle,  all 
things  in  God. 

"  I  believe  that  Christ  came  on  this  atoning,  uni- 
24» 


282  RELATION    TO   THE    MINISTRY. 

fying,  unitarianizing  errand,  to  reconcile  or  make  us 
all  at  one  with  God. 

"  I  believe  that  sin  is  a  departure  from  God,  a 
breach  in  the  unity  that  should  subsist  between  the 
soul  and  God. 

"  I  believe,  that,  in  proportion  as  a  man  becomes, 
in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word,  unitarianized, 
divinely  unitarianized ;  in  proportion  as  he  enters 
into  this  harmony,  and  becomes  at  one  with  God  ;  in 
proportion  as  he  accepts  the  doctrine  and  realizes  the 
power  of  the  great  Unity,  he  ceases  to  sin. 

"I  believe,  furthermore,  that  the  corruptions,  er 
rors,  wrongs,  and  woes  of  the  Christian  church  were 
owing  to  the  loss  of  its  original  Unitarianism. 

"  There  is  the  unity  of  the  church.  I  yearn  for 
it,  I  pray  for  it.  I  long  to  be  united  to  my  Metho 
dist  brother,  and  my  Episcopal  brother,  and  my  Bap 
tist  brother,  and  my  Calvinist  brother,  —  my  Trini 
tarian  brother,  of  every  name  and  sort. 

"  In  the  unity  of  God,  the  unity  that  Christ 
prayed  for,  in  the  unity  that  really  subsists  between 
all  goodness,  I  feel  that  I  can  be,  I  feel  that  I 
ought  to  be.  Heaven  speed  the  time  when  I  shall 
be!.  .  . 

"  Standing  on  the  eminence  I  now  do,  I  seem  to 
see  the  narrow  horizon  of  our  mortality  extending 
away,  and  merging  in  the  horizon  of  immortality. 
I  seem  to  see,  travelling  up  this  steep  of  the  divine 
Unity,  myriads  of  the  human  race,  on  their  way  to 
the  seats  of  eternkl  blessedness,  growing  out  of  this 
unity  of  heaven  and  earth ;  I  seem  to  see  heaven 
encompassing  earth,  and  seeking  to  irradiate  our 


RELATION    TO   THE    MINISTRY.  £83 

pilgrimage,  and  to  breathe  into  our  imperfect  life 
some  of  its  own  loveliness  and  beauty. 

"  Clouds  lower,  and  tempest  falls,  and  darkness 
gathers ;  but  God  is  the  same,  yesterday,  to-day,  and 
for  ever  :  his  unitary  love  and  goodness  continue  on, 
and  by  and  by  it  will  shine  out  as  the  sun.  .  .  . 

"  Our  circle  is  wide.  It  includes  all  good  men 
and  women  under  heaven ;  it  loves  all  whom  God 
loves ;  it  sends  all  good  men  to  heaven,  without 
regard  to  their  speculative  notions. 

"We,  as  Unitarians,  as  Liberal  Christians,  stand 
in  the  very  centre  around  which,  here  on  the  earth, 
the  great  circle  of  the  communion  of  saints  must  of 
necessity  sweep;  we  are  most  peculiarly  in  the 
heart  of  the  current  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  along  which, 
if  I  may  so  say,  God  is  borne,  and  Christ,  and  the 
holy  angels,  and  all  the  spirits  of  the  just.  .  .  . 

"Standing  as  we  do,  so  to  say,  on  the  infinite 
plane  of  God  and  the  absolute  verity  of  things,  we 
can,  in  a  sense,  see  all  that  God  sees,  as  we  approve 
all  that  God  approves.  Our  great  and  good  are 
indeed  a  throng  that  no  man  can  number.  Creed 
does  not  narrow  our  vision,  nor*  creed  limit  our 
embrace.  As  Unitarian  Christians,  we  are  restricted 
neither  to  country  nor  age,  to  color  nor  condition. 
Some  of  our  saints  may  be  found  among  the  Roman 
ists  ;  there  are  Calvinists  whom  we  recognize  as  the 
children  of  God ;  our  fellowship  reaches  as  far  as 
there  is  a  single  man  on  the  face  of  the  earth  who 
fears  God  and  does  righteousness.  Wherever  throbs 
one  desire  for  virtue,  that  we  legitimately  feel ; 
wherever  arises  one  prayer  for  blessing,  that  legiti- 


284  RELATION    TO   THE    MINISTRY. 

mately  pours  on  us.  We  do  not  reject  a  man  from 
the  true  church  because  he  believes  in  total  depra 
vity  ;  we  include  him  rather,  because  he,  in  his  own 
person,  is  proof  that  man  is  not  totally  depraved. 
The  martyrs  who  have  died  for  the  truth  are  our 
martyrs ;  the  heroes  who  are  battling  for  the  right 
are  our  heroes.  .  .  . 

"  Every  virtue  that  ever  flourished  beneath  the 
skies  is  ours  ;  every  green  and  sunny  spot,  sacred  to 
innocence  and  repose,  is  ours  ;  every  great  and  noble 
deed  that  has  blessed  mankind  is  ours ;  every  deep 
and  earnest  prayer  that  human  lips  ever  breathed  is 
ours;  every  home  where  fidelity  and  piety  reign 
is  ours ;  there  is  no  church,  no  temple,  no  fane,  — 
there  is  no  ocean-side,  no  wooded  glade,  where  the 
pulse  of  man  has  beaten  lovingly,  or  his  thought 
dilated  sublimely,  or  his  soul  aspired  divinely,  that 
is  not  ours.  And  all,  too,  is  Christ's,  and  Christ  is 
God's,  and  we  in  Christ  are  in  God." 

IMPROVEMENTS    IN    PUBLIC   WORSHIP. 

Mr.  Judd's  interest  in  and  approval  of  an  organ 
ized  association  of  the  churches  of  the  Unitarian 
denomination  in  Maine,  have  been  noticed  already. 

Another  topic  which  interested  him  was  that  of 
devising  measures  for  rendering  public  worship  more 
impressive.  As  a  means  to  this  end,  he  thought  a 
book  might  be  prepared  for  church-service,  to  be 
used  at  the  option  of  the  clergymen  in  the  regular 
sabbath  exercises.  Such  a  book  too,  he  believed, 
would  be  very  useful  to  small  collections  of  people 


RELATION    TO    THE    MINISTRY. 


wishing  a  religious  service  by  themselves,  not  regu 
larly  organized  into  a  church,  and  too  feeble  to 
support  a  clergyman;  also  to  sabbath  schools  and 
weekly  religious  meetings.  He  considered  the  ma 
terials  for  such  a  book  rich  and  abundant  in  the 
church-literature  of  the  different  denominations  of 
past  ages.  He  would  willingly  glean  from  the  Ro 
man  Catholic  church,  or  any  other  that  furnished 
prayers  and  hymns  of  an  elevated,  spiritual,  and 
devotional  character. 

In  writing  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  P.  on  this  subject, 
he  says :  "  I  would  suggest  that  there  be  a  service 
for  the  ordination  of  pastors  and  deacons,  and  bish 
ops,  if  you  will.  Our  deacons  ought  to  be  inducted 
with  some  little  solemnity. 

"Also  a  service  for  the  sea.  What  quantities 
of  sailors  we  have  in  this  State !  what  a  seaboard ! 
From  Kittery  to  Calais  are  thousands,  captains, 
mates,  fore-the-mast-men,  vessel  and  all,  that  ought 
to  have  such  a  book,  with  a  burial  service  too,  for 
the  sea. 

"Fast  and  Thanksgiving  are  perpetual  New  Eng 
land  days,  both  old  and  of  the  future :  should  they 
not  be  briefly  remembered? 

"You  would  add  a  page  for  Christmas.  That,  at 
least  is  our  day,  shall  always  be." 

Yet  the  idea  of  a  liturgical  service  was  in  his  mind 
quite  subordinate,  compared  with  that  of  the  birth 
right  church,  or  even  with  church-association.  His 
own  words  are  :  "  The  question  of  a  liturgy  is  to  my 
own  mind  a  subordinate  one.  Let  us  become  a 
church ;  and,  if  some  liturgical  services  are  desira- 


£86  RELATION    TO   THE    MINISTRY. 

ble,  we  can  have  them.  It  may  be  that  something 
of  that  sort  would  help  the  other." 

In  regard  to  church-architecture,  Mr.  Judd  felt  a 
great  interest.  Taking  the  ground  that  it  did  or 
should  symbolize  an  idea,  he  maintained  that  we  had 
no  strictly  Christian  architecture;  an  architecture 
emblematical  of  the  great  leading  ideas  of  Christ's 
teachings.  The  Gothic,  with  its  pointed  arch  and  all 
its  upward  leadings,  he  contended,  carried  the  mind 
all  in  one  direction  to  the  great  God  above,  and  did 
not,  at  the  same  time,  embody  the  idea  of  his  being 
brought  at  one  with  us  through  Jesus  Christ ;  he  our 
Father,  and  we  his  children.  He  objected  that  the 
decorations  should  be  Jewish  rather  than  Christian ; 
showing  forth  scenes  and  characters  of  the  patriar 
chal  time,  rather  than  of  the  time  and  life  of  Christ. 
The  great  Christian  idea  of  human  brotherhood  he 
could  not  find  symbolized,  and  he  disliked  the  as 
sumption  of  priestly  superiority  indicated  by  the 
elevation  of  the  minister  so  far  above  his  people. 

He  made  church-architecture  quite  a  study,  col 
lected  what  works  he  could  find  on  the  subject,  and 
looked  forward  hopefully  to  the  time  when  he  might 
have  a  church  built  for  himself,  embodying  the  true 
Christian  idea,  as  he  understood  it. 

SUBJECTS    OF    DISCOURSE,    MANNERS,    ETC. 

Mr.  Judd's  subjects  of  discourse  were  extremely 
varied,  embracing  the  whole  range  of  human  inter 
ests.  Each  was  treated  in  his  own  original  manner, 
and  was  eminently  suggestive  to  the  minds  of  others. 


RELATION    TO    THE    MINISTRY.  287 

The  theme  most  predominant  was  Christ,  on  whom 
he  delighted  to  dwell  in  every  phase  of  his  character 
and  relation  to  us.  The  following  are  some  of 
these  themes  :  ' '  The  indwelling  Christ ;  Christ  to 
the  believer;  The  remembrance  of  Christ;  Christ 
the  light  of  the  world ;  Christ's  sympathy  with  his 
people ;  Christ's  changing  us  into  his  image ;  Christ 
passing  through  the  veil;  The  moral  beauty  of 
Christ ;  Spiritual  coming  of  Christ ;  Christ  the 
inspiration  of  Scripture ;  Christ  the  hope  of  the 
world ;  Christ  the  resurrection  and  the  life ;  Christ 
our  righteousness  ;  Faith  in  Christ ;  Christ  the  rock ; 
Christ  the  vine ;  Christ  and  the  scholar ;  Christ  the 
way,  the  truth,  and  the  life  ;  Cross  of  Christ ;  Christ 
a  mediator ;  Coming  to  Christ ;  Christ  and  nature." 
Such  are  a  few  among  the  many  subjects  of  which 
Christ  was  the  basis. 

His  sermons  upon  the  great,  leading  objects  he 
labored  for  have  been  often  referred  to. 

An  uncommon  proportion  of  his  congregation  was 
removed  by  death.  Those  occasions  led  to  a  large 
number  of  discourses  on  suffering,  death,  and  im 
mortality,  which  are  rich  in  the  sweetest  consola 
tion.  They  illuminate  that  valley  which  to  so 
many  is  dark  and  fearful,  open  the  portals  of  eternal 
life,  and,  with  a  glowing  faith,  reveal  the  blessed 
ness  of  those  who  find  a  final  home  in  the  bosom  of 
their  God.  From  these  might  well  be  gleaned  a 
volume  rarely  adapted  to  soothe  and  cheer  the  sor 
rowful  and  mourning  heart. 

His  subjects  were  often  on  his  mind  for  months, 
before  he  wrote  upon  them ;  and,  when  they  were 


RELATION    TO   THE    MINISTRY. 

at  length  written  out,  it  was  with  diinculty  that  his 
pen  kept  pace  with  the  rapidity  of  his  composition. 
The  clothing  of  his  thoughts  seemed  to  flow  in  upon 
him  unbidden.  His  subjects  so  grew  upon  him,  so 
stretched  out  into  infinity  in  their  various  ramifica 
tions,  that  he  often  seemed  at  a  loss  what  to  select 
from  the  mass  of  material  lying  before  him.  There 
was  a  logic  in  his  own  mind  by  which  he  legitimately 
came  to  his  conclusions  ;  but  it  was  often  by  jumps 
from  point  to  point,  natural  and  easy  to  him,  yet 
such  that  others  could  not  always  find  the  interme 
diate  terra  firma  on  which  to  follow  him.  He  had 
an  intuitive  perception  of  the  separate  links  of  his 
chain ;  but,  from  the  fact  that  they  were  so  evident  to 
his  own  mind,  he  could  not  always  point  them  out, 
one  by  one,  to  the  view  of  others.  Amid  the  rapid 
flow  of  thought  arising  from  his  comprehensive  view, 
he  could  not  always  wait  to  assort  his  ideas  in  the 
most  consecutive  manner ;  and  therefore  his  sermons 
may  sometimes  have  left  the  impression  of  being  a 
series  of  detached  thoughts,  not  very  closely  related 
to  each  other. 

In  the  illustration  of  his  subjects,  he  drew  largely 
from  nature  and  art,  from  all  times  and  from  all 
countries,  evincing  great  general  knowledge  and 
reflection,  and  the  most  acute  observation;  thus 
making  his  pulpit,  in  an  educational  point  of  view, 
a  rare  school  for  the  mental  expansion  of  the  young. 
Common,  daily  life  he  also  brought  largely  under 
contribution.  Little  incidents  of  a  moral  bearing,  in 
the  streets  of  the  city,  at  the  mills,  the  dam,  would 
often  surprise  by  their  reappearance  from  the  desk, 


RELATION    TO   THE    MINISTRY.  289 

and  lead  to  the  feeling  that  there  "  was  a  chiel  amang 
them  takin'  notes." 

A  lady  of  his  church,  in  writing  of  him,  says : 
"  Very  few  ministers  bring  their  innermost  feelings 
respecting  life  and  death,  and  the  sorrows  of  our 
common  lot,  so  tenderly,  and  with  such  simplicity, 
before  their  people.  I  think  Mr.  Judd  had  the 
faculty  of  entering  into  everybody's  heart,  of  placing 
himself  in  the  situation  of  every  mourner,  parent, 
child,  brother,  sister,  or  friend ;  and  he  seemed  to 
feel  just  what. they  felt." 

Mr.  Judd  did  not  often  trust  himself  to  preach 
without  notes.  His  reflective  habits  and  natural 
diffidence  combined  to  prevent  that  ready  utterance 
and  self-possession  necessary  to  ensure  success  in 
extemporaneous  speaking.  He  therefore  very  sel 
dom  made  speeches  or  took  part  in  discussions  at 
public  meetings  :  he  indeed  often  shrank  away  to 
some  obscure  seat,  where  he  would  not  be  likely 
to  be  noticed;  and  sometimes,  when  loudly  called 
for,  he  would  not  come  forward,  because  he  felt  he 
could  not.  As  he  had  very  limited  opportunity  for 
exchanges,  his  labor  in  writing  was  quite  confining. 

Mr.  Judd's  manners  in  the  pulpit  were  peculiarly 
modest  and  humble.  He  might  be  seen  entering 
the  church  with  noiseless  tread,  and  passing  up  the 
aisle  in  the  most  quiet  manner,  as  though  he  wished 
nobody  to  see  him.  The  black  robe  in  which  he 
officiated  always  draped  itself  upon  him  in  simple, 
easy  guise,  displaying  no  self-consciousness  or  osten 
tation.  His  face  was  exceedingly  youthful  for  one  of 
his  age ;  and,  in  the  pulpit,  he  was  often  taken  for 
25 


£90  RELATION    TO    THE    MINISTRY. 

a  man  of  much  younger  .years.  His  ample  forehead 
and  penetrating  blue  eye  gave  him  a  highly  intellec 
tual  expression ;  while  his  fair  skin,  softened,  sandy 
hair,  and  delicate  small  hand,  imparted  to  him  a 
gentle,  scholar-like  appearance.  He  so  ordered  the 
several  parts  of  church-service,  reading  the  Scrip 
tures,  hymns,  prayer,  and  preaching,  as  to  produce 
a  general  harmony  of  the  whole.  The  Scriptures, 
which  he  was  accustomed  to  expound  as  he  read 
along,  and  the  sacred  songs,  had  meaning  as  they 
fell  from  his  lips.  His  prayers  were,  usually  rather 
short  and  informal,  poured  forth  from  the  present 
spontaneity  of  his  own  spirit.  He  felt  the  needs  of 
the  hour  and  the  occasion,  and  ceased  when  he  had' 
uttered  the  appropriate  petitions. 

In  his  elocution,  there  was  a  blending  of  the  ear 
nest  and  the  tender.  He  uttered  his  words  in  a 
subdued  tone,  but  with  great  distinctness,  solemnity, 
and  pathos.  He  was  perfectly  absorbed  in  his  sub 
ject,  and  in  the  duties  of  the  day.  Many  of  his 
unique  expressions  would  cause  a  smile  to  circulate 
through  the  congregation,  and  produce  a  general 
rustle  in  the  house;  while  the  deep  seriousness  of 
his  own  tone  and  look  would  show,  that  it  was  more 
in  sorrow  than  in  mirth  he  spake,  or  that  simple 
earnestness  in  his  subject  had  led  to  the  unexpected 
juxtaposition  of  the  word  or  thought.  He  seldom 
used  much  gesture,  though  occasionally  he  would 
throw  off  a  very  impressive  one. 

He  often  'became  so  pale  and  trembling  from  his 
own  emotion,  as  scarcely  to  be  able  to  utter  the  afflic 
tive  thoughts  that  pressed  upon  his  heart.  Such  an 


RELATION    TO   THE    MINISTRY.  291 

instance  was  that,  when,  on  first  preaching  to  his 
people  on  the  birthright  church,  and  enumerating 
the  various  expedients  of  different  denominations  to 
get  the  outsiders  into  the  church,  personating  his 
own  feelings  particularly,  he  said  in  tones  of  grief, 
"  And  Unitarianism  has  folded  its  hands,  and  wept." 
In  a  sort  of  despairing  anguish,  came  such  expres 
sions  as  the  one  quoted  a  few  pages  back,  "  Never, 
no,  never."  And,  in  urging  upon  his  own  people 
the  adoption  of  his  views  of  the  birthright  church, 
he  said, ( '  I  would  willingly  lay  myself  in  the  grave, 
i£,  by  so  doing,  I  could  accomplish  this." 

The  freshness  of  the  thoughts  presented,  the  ori 
ginality  of  illustrations,  the  suggestive  character  of 
the  discourse,  the  general  information  conveyed,  the 
importance  of  the  subjects  treated,  the  clear,  rich 
tones  of  his  voice,  and  his  unstudied  manner,  all 
combined  to  render  Mr.  Judd  a  very  attractive  and 
popular  preacher.  His  words  made  an  impression 
that  was  carried"  away  by  the  hearer,  and  which 
attended  him  through  the  week,  and  prompted  to 
right-doing  in  the  daily  affairs  of  the  shop,  the  office, 
the  factory,  and  the  farm. 


292 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

RELATION  TO   PROGRESS  AND  REFORMS. 


GENERAL    POSITION. 
I 

IN  this  department  of  his  character,  Mr.  Judd  had 
no  one-sided  view  to  which  he  was  wedded  ;  no  one 
form  of  human  interest  on  which  he  concentrated 
all  his  powers,  and  for  which  alone  he  labored.  His 
desires  for  human  welfare  were  all-embracing,  com 
prehending  every  form  of  moral  and  intellectual 
improvement.  No  one  more  than  he  was  sensible 
of  the  many  existing  evils,  and  the  need  of  reforma 
tions.  But,  in  his  labors,  he  strove  rather  to  lay  the 
axe  at  the  root  of  the  tree  than  to  spend  his  strength 
upon  the  branches.  He  regarded  the  spirit  of  Christ 
and  his  precepts  as  infallible  specifics  for  the  cure  of 
every  type  of  moral  evil,  and  sought  rather  to  imbue 
the  heart  with  these  than  to  enlist  the  feelings  in 
opposition  to  any  one  description  of  wrong  ;  be 
lieving  that,  if  the  fountain  was  made  pure,  the 
streams  could  not  fail  to  be  pure  also.  "I  hardly 
expect,"  he  says,  "  to  see  freedom  granted  to  the 
slave,  or  justice  to  the  Indian,  until  Christian  doc 
trine  and  principle  become  a  living  conscience  with 
the  mass  of  the  people." 

But,  while  this  was  the  foundation  of  his  labors, 


RELATION  TO  PROGRESS  AND  REFORMS.    293 

and  the  most  prominent  mode  of  his  exertions,  he 
did  not  fail  to  proclaim  against  particular  forms  of 
evil,  and  to  use  his  most  earnest  efforts  for  their 
suppression.  Yet,  in  this,  he  pursued  mainly  an 
individual  course.  He  could  not,  in  general,  unite 
with  organized  bodies,  because  he  disapproved  their 
measures.  He  did  not  believe  in  denunciation  as 
a  means  of  bringing  people  to  a  sense  of  duty ; 
he  did  not  believe  in  reforming  people  by  coercion. 
"  The  moral  reformer,"  he  says,  "  must  combine 
beauty  in  his  manner,  motives,  and  deeds,  or  he 
cannot  persuade  men.  The  moment  one,  in  his 
spirit  or  expression,  becomes  ugly,  though  he  be 
engaged  in  the  best  work  in  the  world,  he  will  enlist 
no  sympathy,  kindle  no  love,  and,  of  course,  accom 
plish  nothing." 

He  relied  on  enlightening,  convincing,  and  per 
suading.  The  spirit  of  love,  persistently  exercised 
in  winning  the  offender  from  wrong,  he  believed  to 
be  omnipotent.  He  held  to  overcoming  evil  with 
good.  "  Instruction,"  he  says,  "  reaches  the  intel 
lect  ;  love  engages  the  affections  ;  but  denunciation, 
overpowering  both  these,  convulses  the  passions, 
either  quickening  them  into  resistance  or  paralyzing 
them  with  fear." 

He  had  nothing  of  the  spirit  of  party ;  and,  when 
he  had  opponents,  he  did  not  care  to  spend  breath 
in  disputing  with  them.  He,  indeed,  would  in 
silence  leave  his  own  cause  to  defend  itself  by  its 
inherent  merits,  rather  than  contend.  "  Love  and 
honor,"  he  says,  "and  all  gentleness  and  amenity 
springing  therefrom,  must  rule  in  parties,  govern 

25* 


294  RELATION    TO 

opposites,  and  qualify  antagonisms,  such  as  are  inevi 
table  to  a  free  land.  Our  politicians  and  reformers, 
our  conservatists  and  radicals,  our  woman's-rights 
men  and  man's-rights  women,  our  orthodox  and  our 
heterodox,  rum  men  and  anti-rum  men,  slaveholders 
and  abolitionists,  have  got  to  come  to  this,  —  the 
recognition  of  the  reasonable  soul ;  the  observance 
of  the  sovereignty  of  ideas  ;  the  creed  and  covenant 
of  our  higher  nature  ;  or,  in  plainer  words,  to  the 
simple  letter  of  Scripture,  which  says,  '  Provoke  not, 
love  one  another,  overcome  evil  with  good ; '  or, 
however  we  may  have  truth  and  right  on  our  side, 
we  shall  find  we  are  perpetually  degenerating  to 
the  plane  of  bestiality  and  barbarism,  and  that  the 
disintegration  of  those  moral  bonds  that  should  for 
ever  unite  us  is  rapidly  hastening."  The  only 
reformatory  societies  he  ever  joined  were  "  The 
Sons  of  Temperance,"  whose  basis  of  operation,  by 
moral  suasion,  corresponded  with  his  own  views ;  and 
"  The  League  of  Human  Brotherhood." 

It  was  a  grievous  thing  to  him  to  see  men  of 
noble  mind  and  heart  falling  out  with  each  other, 
and  assuming  the  attitude  of  antagonists.  Touching 
this  point,  he  has  these  words  :  "  There  is  something  - 
sublime  in  the  rencontre  between  Webster  and 
Hayne ;  but,  let  me  aver,  there  is  something  more 
sublime,  more  affecting,  bordering  more  nearly  on 
the  deepest  pathos  we  know  of,  —  so  touching  as,  I 
imagine,  to  draw  tears  from  those  serene  orbs  of 
Hope  and  Love  that  from  the  heavens  look  down  on 
the  centuries  and  us,  —  in  the  parting  of  two  such 
men  as  Buckingham  and  "Webster ;  their  total  sepa- 


PROGRESS  AND  REFORMS.          295 

ration,  never  more  by  ingle-side  or  country's  altar  to 
meet,  in  heart  or  hand  never  more  to  meet  on  all 
this  round  globe." 

He  was  not  at  all  radical  in  his  tendencies.  In 
1841,  he  writes,  "I  am,  in  all  valuable  and  essential 
respects,  an  old-fashioned  Unitarian.  I  would  be 
an  evangelical  Christian.  I  am  in  theology  some 
what  of  a  conservative."  At  a  later  period,  he  says 
to  his  people,  "  I  am  sometimes  called  an  innovator. 
Your  minister  is  charged  with  seeking  after  what  is 
unique  and  novel ;  he  has  even  been  classed  with 
those  who  would  break  up  existing  things,  and 
demolish  the  groundwork  of  existing  society.  I  do 
not  believe  there  are  half  a  dozen  persons  in  the 
parish,  or  in  the  town,  who  have  more  reverence 
than  I  have  —  a  cordial,  hearty  reverence  —  for  old 
people,  old  forms,  old  houses,  old  families,  old  cus 
toms,  old  churches.  There  is  not  one  who  would 
give  more  to  go  back  half  a  century,  and  spend  an 
evening,  a  day,  a  week,  with  our  ancestors." 

Again  :  ' '  We  hear  talk  of  being  behind  the  age, 
or  before  the  age.  For  one,  I  wish  to  be  precisely 
at  that  point  where  God  and  my  own  conscience  will 
approve  of  what  I  am,  whether  it  is  behind  or  before 
the  age.  I  think  it  possible  to  be  very  near  the 
true  and  the  right,  on  whichever  side  of  the  popular 
line  we  may  chance  to  fall ;  and  that  I  take  to  be 
the  identical  position  of  the  departed  ones,  com 
paring  earthly  things  with  heavenly."  He  further 
remarks  on  this  point :  "  Before  the  majesty  of  the 
Christian  law,  if  asked  where  I  am,  I  feel  as  a  noted 
character  did  when  they  called  him  out  after  Jenny 


296  RELATION    TO 

Lind's  singing,  and  can  only  say,  '  I  am  nowhere.' 
I  mean,  there  is  something  better  than  a  side.  There 
must  be  sides,  indeed ;  but,  as  to  the  matter  of  abso 
lute  truth,  it  is  rather  a  circle  than  a  side,  —  like  the 
sphere  of  Hermes,  whose  centre  was  everywhere, 
and  whose  circumference  was  nowhere.  In  ques 
tions  of  policy,  there  may  be  sides ;  but  one  need 
not  be  slab-sided ;  neither  need  there  be  so  many 
sharp  edges  and  barbed  points." 

He  held  to  the  utmost  freedom  of  thought,  and 
the  fullest  expression  of  it.  While  he  did  not  at  all 
sympathize  in  the  ultra-views  of  some  clergymen  of 
the  Unitarian  body,  he  did  not  approve  of  excluding 
them  from  the  fellowship  of  the  denomination,  be 
cause,  in  the  exercise  of  their  own  conscientious 
convictions,  they  could  not  look  at  every  thing  just 
as  he  did.  So,  in  regard  to  those  who  differed  from 
him  in  the  means  of  reform  so  far  that  he  could  not 
act  with  them,  he  was  most  tolerant  and  charitable. 

The  doctrine  which  in  his  mind  formed  the  found 
ation  of  every  species  of  duty  to  our  fellow-men, 
was  that  of  universal  human  brotherhood;  embrac 
ing  all  of  every  color  ^nd  nation,  rich  or  poor,  bond 
or  free,  Jew  or  Mahomedan,  Heathen  or  Christian. 
He  strove  to  lead  men  to  love  their  neighbor  as 
themselves ;  to  do  to  others  as  they  would  that  others 
should  do  unto  them ;  to  consider  themselves  child 
ren  of  one  common  Father,  brethren  of  Christ,  and, 
in  love  to  each  other,  to  be  harmonious  followers  of 
the  Prince  of  Peace. 


PROGRESS  AND  REFORMS.          297 


WAR. 


The  most  wide-spreading  violation  of  this  princi 
ple,  and  that  which  he  regarded  as  most  hindering 
the  universal  spread  of  the  gospel  of  Christ,  was 
war.  This  giant  evil,  whose  name  to  him  was  Le 
gion,  penetrated  his  soul  more  than  any  other ;  and 
upon  this  he  inclined  to  dwell  more  than  upon  other 
forms  of  human  wrong.  "  Taking  country  with 
country,  age  with  age,"  he  says,  "  war  is  an  infinitely 
greater  evil  than  intemperance.  "While  the  latter 
has  slain  its  tens  of  thousands,  the  former  has  slain 
its  tens  of  millions."  His  early  preaching  upon  this 
subject,  and  its  consequences  upon  his  chaplaincy  to 
the  Legislature  of  Maine,  have  already  been  nar 
rated. 

In  a  lyceum  lecture  upon  "  Non-resistance,"  which 
he  delivered  in  Augusta,  Dec.  1852,  are  the  following 
passages  :  "  It  is  said  that  force  and  war  have  aided 
civilization.  I  must  deny  this  in  toto.  Almost  the 
whole  of  ancient  civilization,  buried  by  the  tide  of 
violence,  has  been  lost  to  the  world.  Arts  have  dis 
appeared,  perhaps  never  to  be  recovered.  The  cities 
of  the  East,  once  beautiful  and  prosperous  as  our 
own,  are  in  desolation.  The  traveller  everywhere 
wanders  amid  the  sepulchres  of  departed  virtues,  or 
traces  the  footprints  of  lost  attainments.  Wherever 
we  turn  in  the  history  of  nations,  says  a  recent 
writer,  we  are  met  by  indisputable  evidence  of  the 
former  existence  of  ancient  chronicles  throughout 
the  world,  accumulated  during  countless  centuries, 
now  utterly  annihilated.  The  ancient  archives  in 


298  RELATION    TO 

Greece,  Asia  Minor,  and  Syria,  the  Ptolemaic  Li 
brary,  the  Alexandrian  Library,  which  it  had  taken 
six  hundred  years  to  gather,  the  literary  collections 
of  Indian  and  Central  Asia,  the  Tyrian  annals,  the 
Punic  chronicles,  the  writings  of  the  Arian  fathers, 
the  Hebrew  Hagiography,  the  Roman  public  registers, 
are  all  gone.  Egypt,  possibly  the  nurse  and  founder 
of  human  civilization ;  the  productions  of  her  priests 
and  philosophers,  the  wisdom  whence  Moses  and 
Plato  drew  ;  the  twenty  thousand  volumes  in  common 
use  among  her  people,  —  are  all  dust  and  ashes,  or 
silent,  widowed  monuments  of  a  glory  that  was.  The 
memorials  of  the  ancient  Britons  met  the  same  fate. 
After  the  Saxon  invasion  of  England  from  east  to 
west,  Gildas  informs  us,  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but 
churches  and  other  edifices,  public  and  private,  noble 
structures,  burnt  and  demolished.  The  Danes  com 
mitted  to  the  flames  the  chief  cities  of  England, 
where  the  chief  wealth  and  intelligence  of  the  coun 
try,  in  the  arts,  in  literature,  and  manufactures, 
were  collected.'  The  Romans  have  been  called  the 
civilizers  of  mankind.  Their  first  great  exploit, 
says  Mr.  Taylor,  in  his  e  History  of  the  Fine  Arts  in 
England,'  was  the  demolishing  of  the  arts  and  civi 
lizations  of  the  Etrurians,  who,  it  is  well  known, 
were  so  superior  to  the  Romans  in  learning,  arts, 
and  manners,  that  the  latter  were  mere  savages  as 
compared  with  that  ingenious  and  interesting  peo 
ple.  Mexico  has  been  rendered  tenfold  more  dis 
orderly  by  our  recent  attack  on  her. 

"  I  do  not  deny  that  civilization  has  advanced,  yet* 
not  by  means  of,  but  in  spite  of,  war.  .  .  . 


PROGRESS  AND  REFORMS.          299 

"  Christendom  expends  more  in  one  year  on  the 
means  and  instruments  of  human  slaughter,  than  has 
been  given  to  the  promulgation  of  the  gospel  since 
Jesus  Christ  died  upon  the  cross.  The  American 
Bible  Society  congratulates  itself  on  receiving  in  a 
certain  year  $166,000.  The  same  year,  the  Ameri 
can  government  expended  on  its  army  and  navy 
$20,000,000 

"  If  that  Japan  expedition  would  fling  all  its  can 
non  and  its  powder  into  the  middle  of  the  Pacific 
Ocean,  and  say  to  those  people,  *  We  come  to  you  as 
brothers,  from  a  great,  growing,  fraternal  land  ;  help 
us  and  we  will  help  you  ; '  then  they  would  give  us 
the  shelter  of  their  harbors,  and  the  facilities  of  their 
coal-mines ;  nay,  help  us  build  warehouses  in  their 
streets,  and  erect  telegraph-posts  on  their  hills. 
Then  those  children  of  the  evening  and  these  of  the 
morning  would  rejoice  under  a  common  sun,  whose 
beams  are  an  eternal  noon  to  all,  —  the  fatherhood  of 
God  and  brotherhood  of  Christ.  .  .  . 

"  There  arises  the  question  of  intervention^  We 
want  to  accomplish  certain  results,  and  we  mistake 
the  means ;  we  are  in  haste,  and  are  not  willing  to 
wait  the  slower  movements  of  God  and  time.  Vio 
lence  is  a  quicker  remedy  than  persuasion.  The  sort 
of  materialistic  philosophy  in  which  we  are  more  or 
less  educated,  inclines  us  to  draw  the  sword  of  steel 
rather  than  that  of  the  Spirit.  Our  object  is  com 
mendable  :  we  would  suppress  some  evil,  or  advance 
some  good ;  and,  instead  of  asking  Jesus  Christ  how 
he  would  have  us  do,  we  take  counsel  of  our  coars- 


300  RELATION    TO 

est  instincts,  of  the  traditions  of  the  elders,  and  dash 
like  Caribs  at  the  end  proposed. 

"  The  power  of  ideas,  the  force  of  truth,  the  om 
nipotence  of  example,  the  consuming  energy  of  love, 
—  these  are  not  popular  principles.  Even  the  true 
force  of  Christ  has  been  for  ages  lost  to  the  world, 
in  that  his  great  work  in  this  world  has  been  sup 
posed  to  be  the  baring  of  his  naked  breast  to  the 
keen,  vindictive  sword  of  Heaven's  violated  law. 

"  Well,  we  want  to  help  Hungary.  And  what  is 
the  first  thought  that  offers  itself  to  the  popular  in 
stinct  ?  Why,  pour  in  between  the  invader  and  the 
patriots  a  score  of  our  gallant  troops ;  shoot  down 
the  Austrian,  beat  back  the  Russian.  The  spirit 
evoked  is  that  of  the  ramrod. 

"  The  end  proposed  is  commendable  ;  but  are  we 
not  wholly  mistaken  in  the  means  ?  Do  we  not 
wholly  overlook  the  power  there  is  in  moral  force  ? 
Are  we  not  more  anxious  to  do  something  striking, 
than  what  is  sure  ?  Do  we  not  in  this  betray  the 
materialism,  the  grossness,  the  savageness  of  our 
philosophy  ?  Where  is  our  faith  in  the  spiritual, 
even  if  it  be  invisible  ;  in  Christ,  even  if  we  see  him 
not? 

"  Intervention !  The  most  solid,  enduring,  effec 
tive  intervention  America  can  give,  is  summarily 
that  of  her  example.  A  great  and  good  republic, 
prosperous,  stable,  happy,  and  pure,  on  these  wes 
tern  shores,  is  the  most  formidable  and  terrible  thing 
to  tyrants  that  can  be  conceived.  The  despotisms  of 
the  old  world  have  as  heavy  cannon-balls,  as  sharp 
swords,  as  experienced  gunners,  as  we  have,  and 


PROGRESS  AND  REFORMS.          301 

in  the  end  stand  as  good  a  chance  to  come  out  best  in 
the  conflict  as  we  do.  They  have  not  free  schools ; 
they  have  not  universal  suffrage ;  they  have  not  a 
free  press ;  they  have  not  an  equalization  of  ranks  ; 
they  have  not  a  voluntary  religion.  Here  they  can 
not  meet  us.  Here  is  our  strength.  These  are  our 
weapons  of  warfare.  If  we  undertake  to  fight  the 
devil  with  his  own  weapons,  we  shall  find  he  can  use 
them  better  than  we. 

"  Intervention !  Every  day  that  America  lives, 
tells  on  the  destinies  of  Europe.  Every  day  the 
sun  passes  over  us  in  its  progress  round  the  globe, 
it  scatters  some  bright  hint  from  us  to  other  lands. 
Every  American  ship  that  ascends  the  Thames,  or 
penetrates  the  Baltic,  practically  interferes ;  every 
flourishing  town,  every  new  school-house,  every 
railroad  we  build,  interferes;  our  annual  statistics 
interfere  ;  all  wholesome  laws  we  pass  interfere  ; 
humanity,  thriving  and  advancing,  interferes.  Our 
not  having  a  standing  army  is,  if  I  may  so  say,  a  most 
violent  interference.  This  little  negative  circum 
stance  strikes  dread  and  alarm  to  the  bottom  of  the 
heart  of  the  governments  of  the  old  world.  Cities 
here  without  walls,  highways  without  guards,  travel 
without  passports,  a  press  without  censorship,  — 
these  are  the  things  that  agitate  Europe.  .  .  . 

"God  once  interfered  on  behalf  of  oppressed, 
degraded  humanity,  on  behalf  of  sin  and  sinners,  in 
favor  of  liberty,  and  against  tyrants.  How  did  he 
do  it  ?  He  sent  his  beloved  Son  into  the  world  to 
love  us,  to  labor  and  pray  for  us,  to  teach  us,  and,  if 
need  were,  to  die  for  us.  The  mission  of  Christ  to 

26 


302  RELATION    TO 

the  world  is  precisely  the  mission  of  every  Christian 
man ;  the  mission  of  Christ  to  the  world  is  precisely 
the  mission  of  every  Christian  nation.  If  you  can 
understand  what  Christ's  mission  was,  so  can  you 
understand  what  the  proper  mission  of  America  is 
among  the  nations  of  the  earth." 

On  the  point  of  Non-resistance,  Mr.  Judd  says  : 
"He  whose  birth  determined  the  dispensation  of 
history  in  which  our  lines  have  fallen,  who  founded 
the  cultus  to  which  we  are  attached,  in  whose  name 
we  are  baptized,  left  precepts  like  the  following : 
*  Resist  not  evil ;  render  not  strife  for  strife,  but,  if 
one  cheek  be  struck,  rather  turn  the  other  to  the 
smiter ;  overcome  evil  with  good ;  pray  for  your 
enemies :  so  shall  ye  be  children  of  your  Father 
which  is  in  heaven.' 

"  From  this  language  I  educe  a  certain  law  of  life ; 
a  law  regulating  the  relations  of  the  injured  and  the 
injurious,  of  truth  and  error,  virtue  and  vice ;  the 
course  of  those  who  would  do  good,  and  the  condi 
tions  of  the  loving  and  acting  soul ;  a  law  applicable 
indiscriminately  to  individuals  and  communities,  to 
families,  schools,  governments. 

"  I  say  the  law  is  indiscriminately  applicable  to  all 
communities  of  human  beings.  I  see  no  cause  or 
color  of  distinction.  In  the  nature  of  the  case,  it 
refers  to  human  beings  in  their  social  relation ;  and 
who  shall  dare  limit  the  extent  of  these  relations  ? 
Who  shall  interpret  this  language  of  Christ  as  be 
longing  to  church-matters,  and  not  to  state-matters  ; 
or  as  defining  the  duties  of  a  dozen  men,  and  not  of 
a  dozen  million  ? 


PROGRESS    AND    REFORMS. 


"  It  had  been  said,  An  eye  for  an  eye,  a  tooth  for 
a  tooth.  Christ  replies,  Nay,  that  was  neither  wisely, 
nor  humanly,  nor  divinely  said.  There  is  a  better 
way.  Do  not  injure  those  that  injure  you.  Benefit 
them,  as  the  universal  Father  treats  good  and  evil 
with  rain  and  sunshine  alike. 

"  I  am  supremely  a  Christian,  being  neither  pagan 
nor  Jew,  unbeliever  nor  trans cendentalist.  I  do  not 
presume  to  vindicate  Christ's  doctrine ;  I  dare  not 
qualify  it ;  I  trust  I  have  too  much  Christian  honor 
to  blink  it.  I  accept  it.  As  a  Christian  disciple,  I 
would  study  it ;  as  a  Christian  teacher,  I  would  en 
force  it. 

"Yet,  while  I  receive  it  directly  from  Christ,  I 
have  no  doubt  that  he,  guided  by  the  holy  spirit  that 
was  in  him,  in  proposing  his  system,  embodied  the 
accumulative  wisdom  of  ages,  condensed  the  results 
of  the  highest  rationality,  and  reflected,  in  the  clear 
mirror  of  his  own  heavenly  thought,  the  fundamen 
tal  principles  of  universal  human  nature." 

Applicable  also  to  this  subject  are  the  remarks 
subjoined  from  an  oration  before  the  fire-clubs  of 
Augusta  and  the  neighboring  towns,  delivered  July 
4,  1850,  in  the  Court-house  Square,  Augusta,  upon 
the  subject  of  "Heroism  :  "  — 

"  There  is  that  heroism  which  appeals  strongly  to 
our  sensibilities,  which  captivates  -the  imagination, 
and  takes  with  the  popular  heart.  But  what  is  hero 
ism  ?  What  is  it  in  its  noblest,  most  divine,  most 
pure  exercise  ?  The  kings  of  the  earth  would  make 
their  subjects  believe  it  is  physical,  military  daring. 
So  they  have  employed  bards  to  sing  and  historians 


304  RELATION   TO 

to  record  such  exploits,  and  perpetuated  the  memory 
thereof  in  marble  and  in  oil.  So,  if  a  man  killed  one 
man,  it  might  indeed  be  murder ;  but,  when  he  had 
killed  a  million,  he  was  a  hero.  .  .  . 

"  Peace,  we  are  told,  is  unheroic ;  it  is  stagnant, 
tame,  corrupting.  '  A  subtle  poison,'  in  the  language 
of  Mr.  Alison,  '  debases  the  public  mind  at  such  a 
time.  Peace  exhibits,  indeed,  an  enchanting  pros 
pect  ;  but  beneath  that  smiling  surface  are  to  be  found 
the  rankest  and  most  dangerous  passions  of  the  hu 
man  heart.'  The  convulsions  of  war  shake  up  and 
renovate  this  state  of  things ;  war  is  a  sort  of  sub 
soil  ploughing;  it  is  the  refiner's  fire  and  fuller's 
soap ;  it  is  the  thunderstorm  that  settles  the  dust, 
and  clears  the  sultriness  of  a  hot  day. 

I  am  obliged  to  say  there  is  more  heroism,  more 
gallant  daring,  more  generosity  and  manliness,  in  one 
year  of  peace,  than  in  whole  ages  of  war.  I  mean 
that  there  is  more  strict,  undoubted,  legitimate  hero 
ism  in  our  steamship  and  railroad  enterprises,  in  our 
cotton-mills  and  saw-mills,  in  our  scythe-factories 
and  starch-factories,  in  our  scouring  the  ocean  for 
whales,  and  excavating  the  earth  for  its  ores,  and 
similar  things,  than  in  all  the  battles  of  a  century. 
There  was  more  heroism  in  John  Jacob  Astor's  at 
tempt  to  found  a  colony  in  Oregon  in  1812,  than  in 
the  war  that  broke  it  up ;  more  in  De  Witt  Clinton, 
who  about  the  same  time  started  the  project  of  the 
Erie  Canal,  than  in  the  same  war  that  broke  that  up  ; 
more  in  Whitney,  who  would  give  us  a  railroad 
to  the  Pacific,  more  grappling  with  difficulties, 
more  fortitude  in  peril,  more  coolness  in  the  midst  of 


PROGRESS  AND  REFORMS.          305 

assault,  than  in  Leonidas  or  Odin.  I  mean  at  least 
to  say,  that  the  greatest  qualities  of  the  human  mind, 
which,  it  may  be,  war  sometimes  develops,  exist  in 
full  force  in  peace.  .  .  . 

"  There  is  need  of  heroes  at  the  present  moment. 
America  has  need  of  them,  and  the  kingdom  of  God 
has  need  of  them ;  heroes,  not  of  brute  force,  but  of 
ideas  ;  not  of  waste  and  ruin,  but  of  reconstruction ; 
not  of  carnage  and  rapine,  but  of  virtuous  action. 
The  old  race  of  heroes  is  becoming  extinct,  and  a 
new  one  is  rising ;  old  notions  of  strife  and  aggran 
disement  are  supplanted  by  new  ones  of  peace  and 
prosperity ;  outward  excitement  and  passion  yield 
to  inward  enterprise  and  energy.  We  want  not 
heroes  in  epaulets,  but  in  pepper-and-salt ;  not  those 
of  the  sword,  but  of  the  plough,  the  loom,  and  the 
anvil.  We  want  heroes  of  the  river  and  the  forest, 
of  the  field  and  the  ocean,  of  the  pulpit  and  the 
forum,  of  the  ballot-box  and  the  senate-chamber. . .  . 

"  Hang  up  the  old  musket  and  the  kettle-drum. 
The  lightnings  of  heaven  are  arming  for  us ;  and 
recruits  from  the  impalpable  air,  on  the  pathway  of 
the  telegraph,  are  ready  to  run  round  the  world 
in  behalf  of  the  great  cause  of  liberty  and  virtue. 
Steam,  with  all  its  ponderous  agencies,  comes  up 
from  the  fountains  of  water,  and  asks  to  be  enlisted 
for  God  and  the  right.  The  press,  like  the  rising 
sun,  waits  to  irradiate  the  whole  earth  with  the 
brightness  of  our  thought,  the  gladness  of  our  love, 
the  wonders  of  our  genius. 

"  Hang  up  the  musket  and  the  kettle-drum.  Take 
the  spade  and  the  drill,  and  the  mountains  flee  away 

26* 


306  RELATION   TO 

at  your  approach,  the  valleys  are  filled  up,  and  a  way, 
a  highway,  is  made  for  our  God,  —  a  railway  is  made 
for  our  wives  and  children,  for  our  mothers  and 
fathers,  our  brothers  and  sisters,  the  world  over. 

"  In  ancient  times,  the  French  had  a  sacred  banner, 
called  the  Oriflamme,  or  Golden  Flame,  which  was 
used  only  on  august  occasions,  and  when  the  Chris 
tians  went  out  to  war  with  the  Infidels.  It  was  a 
great  banner,  wrought  of  silk  and  garnished  with 
gold,  and  bearing  in  its  centre  a  white  cross ;  and, 
when  it  was  unfurled  to  the  breeze,  it  glistened 
like  the  auroral  lights. 

"  The  sacred  Oriflamme  of  America,  O  ye  young 
men,  unfurl !  —  the  banner  of  freedom,  the  banner 
of  knowledge,  the  banner  of  progress,  the  banner 
of  universal  brotherhood !  a  golden  flaming  banner, 
a  white-cross  banner,  a  banner  of  beauty  and  delight ! 
Unfurl  it  to  the  admiration  of  all  people,  gather  your 
forces  around  it,  carry  it  at  the  head  of  your  ranks ; 
go  forth  under  it  to  the  conquest  of  sin  and  error, 
vice  and  iniquity,  oppression  and  injustice ;  let  it 
stream  above  your  civil  processions ;  let  its  golden 
light  gleam  upon  your  homes  and  your  fields ;  plant 
it  upon  the  top  of  American  destiny  and  the  world's 
hope ;  let  it  irradiate  the  future,  let  it  catch  the 
eye  of  posterity ;  let  it  greet  the  heavens,  let  it  bless 
the  earth. 

"  Be  heroes,  and,  if  need  be,  martyrs  under  it,  — 
the  Oriflamme,  the  Golden  Banner,  the  White-cross 
Banner  ;  nail  it  to  the  mast  of  highest  enterprise  and 
holiest  endeavor  ;  and,  if  you  must  perish,  perish  with 
that  waving  triumphantly  over  you." 


PROGRESS    AND    REFORMS.  307 

SLAVERY. 

In  consistency  with  his  general  principles,  Mr. 
Judd  had  a  deep  sense  of  the  wrongs  of  slavery,  and 
of  the  foul  blot  it  forms  on  our  national  escutcheon. 
He  felt  it  to  be  totally  in  opposition  to  the  great  law 
of  human  brotherhood,  which  was  his  central  idea. 
He  often  deplored  it  in  his  sermons  and  in  his 
prayers.  Yet  it  was  not  with  him  an  all-absorbing 
form  of  evil,  throwing  every  other  into  the  back 
ground.  It  was  covered  by  the  general  ground  on 
which  he  took  his  position.  As  a  specific  evil,  he 
speaks  of  it  as  "  that  gigantic  subject  of  gigantic  dif 
ficulties."  He  did  not  undertake  to  solve  readily  the 
problem  of  its  immediate  abandonment. 

He  was  utterly  opposed  to  severe  treatment  of 
the  slaveholder,  or  to  harsh  denunciations.  "  I  do 
not  believe,"  he  says,  "  slavery  is  going  to  be  abo 
lished  by  abusing  the  South,  nor  by  cowing  the 
North."  In  reference  to  the  harsh  measures  of 
abolitionists,  he  says,  "As  regards  slaveholders,  we 
might  as  well  hang  them  all,  and  done  with  it.  We 
make  them  guilty  of  all  possible  crimes.  Or,  if  we 
do  not  like  that,  we  may  adopt  the  other  alternative, 
and  love  them  into  repentance  and  reformation." 
He  did  not  think  their  means  adapted  to  their  end ; 
that  slaveholders  could  be  denounced  into  emanci 
pation.  He  could  not  band  himself  with  them. 

In  an  address  upon  "  The  Idea  of  our  Country," 
delivered  at  Portland,  July  4,  1852,  these  remarks 
occur :  "  The  positive  and  leading  idea  of  our  coun 
try,  as  distinguished  from  most  others,  is  supposed 


308  RELATION    TO 

to  be  liberty,  the  basis  of  which,  is  reason  and  intel 
ligence,  virtue  and  religion,  —  liberty  for  all  in  all 
things  ;  freedom  of  action,  thought,  conscience ;  free 
dom  of  the  press  and  the  pulpit;  freedom  in  the 
choice  of  our  rulers.  I  love  this  idea,  and  for  this 
idea  I  love  my  country.  It  is  a  noble  idea,  gener 
ous,  trustful,  implying  unbounded  confidence  in 
humanity,  and  replete  with  hope  for  the  race. 

"  A.  fact,  a  certain  fact,  that  offsets  this  idea,  that 
militates  against  it,  that  confronts  it  with  a  terrific 
scowl,  —  shall  I  name  it  ?  shall  I  suffer  its  shadow  to 
rise  in  the  beauty  of  this  our  pleasant  prospect  ?  shall 
I  suffer  its  harsh  clangor  or  its  melancholy  wail  to 
mingle  with  the  bird-like  tone  and  the  sweet  sensa 
tions  of  this  our  Independence-hour  ?  The  last  census 
informs  us,  that  there  are  three  million  one  hundred 
and  ninety-eight  thousand  three  hundred  and  twen 
ty-four  slaves  in  the  United  States  ;  not  rhetorical 
slaves,  I  take  it,  not  slaves  in  fancy  or  by  construc 
tion,  but  real  veritable  slaves,  merchandise,  wares, 
chattels. 

"  "Well,  here  we  are,  on  this  Fourth  of  July,  with 
our  parade  and  paradox  of  freedom  and  equality.  So 
we  will  be,  so  we  must  be,  if  for  no  other  motive, 
that  slavery  may  come  to  an  end.  The  more  we 
love  liberty,  the  more  we  shall  hate  slavery.  We 
dote  on  liberty,  and  hail  it,  and  celebrate  it,  be 
cause  slavery  is  so  dreadful  a  thing.  The  clearer 
and  stronger  are  our  conceptions  of  liberty,  the  more 
wisely  and  the  more  earnestly  shall  we  labor  against 
slavery.  I  am  not  sorry  slavery  seems  hideous  to  us 
to-day ;  I  am  not  sorry  that  you  can  scarcely  bear  to 


PROGRESS    AND    REFORMS. 


hear  the  subject  mentioned,  nor  that  it  grates  on  the 
harmonies  and  pleasures  that  belong  to  the  occasion 
and  the  multitude.  It  is  so  evil  a  thing,  so  discor 
dant  with  every  true  American  sentiment,  that  the 
pain  the  mention  of  it  gives  us  shows  how  we  abhor 
it,  and  that  even  our  silence  rebukes  it. 

"  Slavery,  I  shall  insist,  is  not  an  idea  of  our 
country.  No.  It  may  be  legally,  it  is  not  logically, 
here ;  it  is  no  correlative  or  deduction,  no  branch 
or  offspring,  of  republicanism.  The  Declaration  of 
Independence,  the  Federal  Constitution,  did  not  in 
troduce  it :  they  found  it  here.  How  much  they 
are  implicated  I  shall  not  undertake  to  say.  The 
year  1620  united  two  remarkable  events,  —^  the  arri 
val  of  a  Dutch  ship,  laden  with  marketable  negroes, 
in  James  River  ;  and  the  arrival  of  the  Mayflower, 
laden  with  the  Pilgrim  fathers,  in  the  harbor  of 
Plymouth.  The  Virginians  welcomed  slavery.  The 
General  Court  of  Massachusetts,  1646,  returned  to 
Africa  a  cargo  of  slaves  brought  into  Boston,  de 
claring  themselves  f  bound  by  the  first  opportunity 
to  bear  witness  against  the  heinous  and  crying  sin 
of  man-stealing.'  They  were  so  scrupulous  as  to 
send  and  fetch  back  a  slave  who  had  been  smuggled 
down  into  Maine.  This  was  the  sort  of  Fugitive 
Slave  Law  of  our  forefathers. 

"  No.  The  idea  of  our  country  is  liberty.  To 
this  idea  we  consecrate  this  day ;  in  it  we  will  live 
and  work ;  through  it  we  hope  ultimately  to  displace 
the  terrible  fact  to  which  I  have  referred.  For  one, 
notwithstanding  this  opposing  circumstance,  I  wor 
ship  liberty  as  purely  as  any  one  ;  I  will  devote 


310  RELATION    TO 

myself  as  earnestly  to  it  as  any  one  ;  neither  the 
stain  of  slavery  is  in  my  skirts,  nor  are  its  clogs  about 
my  feet." 

"The  foundation  of  all  right  politics/'  he  remarks, 
"  is  the  will  of  God ;  that  will  as  revealed  in  Scrip 
ture,  in  nature,  or  in  reason  and  conscience.  A 
regard  to  God's  will  —  latent  perhaps,  yet  actual  — 
underlies  all  worthy  legislative  action.  You  may 
say  you  are  guided  by  the  will  of  the  people  ;  so 
perhaps  you  are.  But  what  is  the  idea  of  the  will 
of  the  people  ?  That  idea  is  expressed  in  the  old 
maxim,  Vox  populi  vox  Dei ;  that  is,  God  is  sup 
posed,  by  his  providence  or  his  grace,  by  his  spirit 
or  his  truth,  to  act  in  the  will  of  the  people.  He 
who  attempts  to  govern  men,  if  he  would  govern 
them  rightly,  must  govern  them  as  God  would 
govern  them.  That  men  have  inalienable  rights 
is  an  annunciation  of  a  certain  fact ;  which  fact 
originates  with  God.  It  is  a  truth  based  upon  the 
harmony  of  certain  ideas  ;  which  harmony  is  a  divine 
creation.  It  is  a  formula  in  which  is  set  God's  will 
to  man." 

THE   INDIANS. 

The  wrongs  done  to  the  aborigines  of  our  country 
also  was  a  subject  over  which  Mr.  Judd's  heart 
bled,  and  to  which  he  often  feelingly  alluded.  In 
the  address  just  quoted  from  is  found  the  following 
passage  :  "  Another  idea  of  our  country  is  equity, 
justice  to  all.  The  most  glaring  defection  here 
appears  in  our  treatment  of  the  Indians.  I  think 


PROGRESS    AND    REFORMS.  311 

we  have  dealt  worse  by  the  Indians  than  by  the 
Africans.  We  exterminate  the  former ;  we  domes 
ticate  the  latter.  We  find  the  black  man  a  peck  of 
corn  a  week  ;  we  curse  the  red  man  with  whiskey. 
I  am  sometimes  astonished,  that,  in  the  varied  phi 
lanthropies  of  the  age,  no  advocate  of  the  aboriginal 
population  arises ;  that,  where  there  is  so  much 
fervid  denunciation  of  the  wrongs  of  slaveholding, 
there  are  none  to  execrate  that  greater  villany, 
Indian-driving. 

"  A  few  years  since,  it  used  to  be  our  impression 
that  the  Indians,  having  passed  the  Mississippi,  and 
fleeing  before  our  rapacity  beyond  the  Rocky  Moun 
tains,  would  at  least  find  repose  beside  the  blue 
waters  of  the  Pacific.  But  this  boon  is  denied 
them. 

"  These  native  Americans  have  not  had  justice  : 
justice  has  not  been  rendered  to  their  characters  or 
virtues,  to  their  capabilities  or  promise,  far  less  to 
their  rights  and  immunities.  'Tis  in  destiny  that 
they  must  perish,  some  say.  Destiny  is  a  very  con 
venient  thing  ;  it  works  just  about  as  our  passions 
dictate  ;  it  is  a  very  agreeable  thing,  since  it  favors 
our  particular  plans  and  devices.  I  wonder  what 
the  Indian  thinks  of  it,  or  of  the  white  man's  God, 
or  the  white  man's  religion.  .  .  .  Who  knows  what, 
if  we  would  rightly  interpret  it,  and  conscientiously 
adjust  ourselves  to  it,  might  be  written  in  the  destiny 
of  the  Indian  ? 

"  Away  with  this  doctrine  of  manifest  destiny, 
which,  on  our  lips  and  in  this  connection,  means 
nothing  more  than  consummate  selfishness  !  " 


RELATION    TO 
INTEMPERANCE. 

The  prevailing  intemperance  of  our  country  came 
in  for  a  large  share  of  Mr.  Judd's  attention  and 
labor.  But  this  again  he  considered  a  form  of  evil 
which  needed  for  its  eradication,  above  all,  a  pure 
Christianity. 

"  Intemperance,"  he  says,  "  after  all,  is  only  a 
branch  of  a  larger  tree  of  evil ;  a  heavily-laden 
branch,  I  own.  There  are  also  avarice,  and  oppres 
sion  of  all  sorts,  much  hurtful  ambition,  much 
general  injustice  to  humanity ;  all  cousins -german 
of  the  same  stock.  That  tree  is  a  corrupted  heart, 
if  you  will,  or  a  corrupt  state  of  society,  if  you  had 
rather.  I  wish  to  see  the  tree  upturned  from  its 
roots." 

In  this,  as  in  other  reforms,  he  believed  the 
appropriate  and  most  effectual  instrumentality  is 
love,  and  not  force.  He  did  not  approve  of  legal 
action  in  the  case  ;  thought  it  involved  in  labyrin 
thine  difficulties,  and  not  a  means  adapted  to  the 
end.  He  "  could  not  consent  that  the  constable 
should  do  the  appropriate  work  of  a  minister  of  the 
gospel."  Of  the  Maine  law  touching  this  subject  he 
said,  "I  cannot  avoid  feeling  it  has  a  tendency  to 
nourish  the  evil  it  deplores.  It  does  not  address 
the  affections  of  those  whose  business  it  touches  ;  it 
ignores  the  fact  that  man  has  a  reasonable  soul ; 
it  wins  no  love  ;  it  converts  no  man's  will."  He 
saw  great  objections  to  it  in  "  its  incentives  to  public 
corruption  in  the  form  of  perjury,  concealment, 
tergiversation,  pretence,  bribery,  barratry;  in  the 


PROGRESS    AND    REFORMS.  313 

operations  of  a  dread  resilience ;  in  the  leadings  on 
to  that  something  worse,  an  exacerbated  collision  of 
public  sentiment,  where  force  shall  be  repelled  by 
force."  But,  while  he  had  no  confidence  in  the 
adequacy  or  adaptedness  of  this  law  for  the  end 
designed,  and  felt  it  to  be  entirely  averse  to  the  true 
principle  of  moral  reform,  he  contented  himself  with 
defining  his  position,  and  passively  awaited  the  result 
of  a  fair  trial  of  its  efficacy  by  those  who  had  faith  in 
its  remedial  power. 

In  Washingtonianism  he  recognized  the  germ, 
which,  if  fully  developed,  would  have  banished 
intemperance  ;  and  its  mode  of  operation  he  em 
braced  heart  and  soul.  He  lamented  that  with  most 
it  proved  to  be  an  impulse  rather  than  a  principle, 
and  that  it  was  so  soon  abandoned  and  overruled  by 
the  devotees  of  force.  "Washingtonianism,"  he 
says,  "  ceasing  to  rely  on  God,  leaned  upon  an  arm 
of  flesh,  and  has  fallen  to  the  ground.  Formerly, 
they  loved  one  another ;  they  loved  the  beastly 
drunkard ;  they  spoke  kindly  to  the  guilty  rum- 
seller.  Brotherly  feelings  were  in  their  hearts  ;  a 
smile  was  on  all  faces,  and  a  softness  in  all  manners. 
Good  times  were  those,  —  a  season  of  genial  excite 
ment,  delightful  recreation,  exuberant  gratitude. 
Nobody  wanted  to  drink  then,  so  much  was  enjoyed 
in  other  ways.  Poor,  broken-hearted  mothers  began 
to  sweep  up  the  floor,  wash  the  dirt  from  the  faces 
of  their  children,  make  the  old  house  seem  tidy  and 
neat,  and  look  cheerfully  out  from  their  clouted 
windows,  because  the  father  had  signed  the  pledge. 
The  frown  fell  from  the  brow  of  Intolerance  ;  the 

27 


314  RELATION   TO 

purse  of  Avarice  was  open  ;  Degradation  creeped  up  . 
from  the  kennel ;  the  hand  of  Fellowship  was  reached 
forth  from  the  churches  :  Profanity  spoke  with  mi 
raculous  reverence  of  God ;  everybody  congratulated 
everybody  j  and  everybody  expected  glad  words  from 
everybody.  The  single  touch  of  Love  thrilled  and 
electrified  the  whole  town.  When  we  wrote  letters, 
we  made  mention  of  it ;  it  was  remembered  in  ser 
mons  and  prayers.  Those  days  are  gone.  And  oh  ! 
it  is  enough  to  make  a  strong  man  weep  —  darkness 
has  come  over  the  town  ;  we  are  repulsed  by  a  cold 
expediency;  there  is  plotting  and  counter-plotting, 
crimination  and  recrimination ;  the  poor,  broken 
hearted  mother  shivers  over  her  scant  fire ;  the 
Levite  goes  by  on  the  other  side,  and  the  good 
Samaritan  has  been  himself  waylaid ;  nobody  con 
gratulates  anybody ;  everybody  believes  everybody 
tells  lies  ;  we  have  grown  hypocritical  and  double- 
faced  ;  a  brooding  suspicion  closes  all  hearts  ;  the 
work  of  temperance  is  carried  on  by  whispers  and 
secret  manoeuvring ;  Christ  has  been  cast  out,  and 
sent  headlong  down  the  hill ;  the  common  enemy 
cries,  '  Aha  !  aha  ! '  over  our  ruin.  God  send  back 
the  good  old  times  ! " 

Again  he  says  :  "  In  the  promotion  of  temperance, 
eminently  and  peculiarly  a  moral  reform,  moral  and 
Christian  means  have  had  the  go-by.  Nothing  is 
now  heard  of  but  force  and  violence.  All  the 
phrases  and  tactics  and  spirit  of  war  are  brought 
into  the  work.  Moral  suasion,  they  tell  us,  was 
good  for  nothing.  I  say  moral  suasion,  in  any 
proper  sense  of  the  word,  has  not  been  tried.  I 


PROGRESS  AND  REFORMS.          315 

mean  systematic,  organized,  continuous,  untiring 
application  of  light  and  love.  As  a  people,  we  do 
not  know  how  to  use  moral  suasion.  The  education 
of  the  people  for  ages  has  been  that  of  legal  suasion. 
The  popular  theology,  which  covers  the  whole  life, 
touches  every  sphere  of  action,  penetrates  to  the 
deepest  springs  of  feeling,  at  the  breasts  of  which 
the  infancy  of  each  generation  is  nursed,  —  the 
popular  theology,  I  say,  of  this  land,  of  all  lands, 
is,  to  a  great  extent,  that  of  legal  suasion." 

He  traced  the  course  of  intemperance  in  New 
England,  in  a  large  degree,  to  the  fact  that  our 
worthy  Puritan  fathers  made  no  provision  for  the  re 
creative  wants  of  the  people.  "  The  Puritans,"  he 
says,  "  shocked  by  the  profane  recreation  in  Eng 
land,  instituted  nothing  in  its  place.  They  practised 
no  sports  themselves  ;  they  oifered  none  to  their  chil 
dren.  To  establish  a  system  of  recreation  that  would 
be  at  once  satisfying  and  pure,  enlivening  and  inno 
cent,  seems  never  to  have  entered  their  minds.  They 
studiously  refrained  in  their  own  persons  from  all 
kinds  of  agreeable  diversion.  Yet  perhaps  there 
never  was  a  people  in  the  world  who  stood  in  greater 
need  of  recreation  than  the  Puritan  colonists  ;  none 
upon  whom  the  cares  of  life  pressed  so  heavily.  But 
recreation  in  some  sort,  man  will  have  ;  the  laws  of 
nature  could  not  turn  aside  for  Puritanism ;  the 
necessities  which  God  has  implanted  in  our  constitu 
tion  could  not  be  satisfied  by  the  sternness  of  these 
Anti-Jacobites ;  they  were  not  stifled,  they  took  a 
new  turn,  they  broke  out  somewhere  else.  Our 
fathers,  having  discarded  every  thing  else,  betook 


316  RELATION   TO 

themselves  for  recreation  to  the  cup.  Denying  them 
selves  what  was  healthful  and  innocent,  they  made 
ample  amends  in  what  was  ruinous  and  criminal. 
Here,  then,  we  have  laid  bare  one  great  secret  of  New 
England  intemperance.  Our  fathers  had  no  dances, 
no  bowling-alleys,  no  sleigh-rides,  no  games  of  goose 
or  backgammon,  no  promenades,  no  systematic  holi 
days,  no  musical  entertainments,  no  literary  or  scien 
tific  amusements,  no  pleasures  of  art,  no  ladies'  fairs, 
no  tea-parties,  no  Sunday-school  celebrations,  no  ru 
ral  festivals  ;  they  never  went  to  Niagara ;  Saratoga 
was  unknown ;  their  labors  were  arduous,  their  cares 
incessant ;  and  their  only  recreation  consisted  in  the 
use  of  intoxicating  drinks.  Ministers,  who  denounced 
sports,  drank  rum ;  magistrates,  who  inflicted  penal 
ties  for  light  conduct,  drank  rum ;  parents,  who 
whipped  their  children  for  playing  Saturday  nights, 
drank  rum.  To  take  a  glass  of  liquor  was  a  cheap, 
summary,  expeditious,  unobtrusive  way  of  self-re 
creation;  it  gave  offence  to  no  one,  it  answered  the 
demands  of  nature,  it  imparted  a  glow  to  the  spirits, 
it  relieved  the  sense  of  burden  and  fatigue,  and  lu 
bricated  all  the  joints  of  action  ;  its  ulterior  effects 
were  not  anticipated;  and  those  people  seemed  to 
themselves  to  have  accomplished  all  recreative  ends, 
when  they  had  satisfactorily  drank.  Rum  thus  be 
came  the  recreative  element  to  our  ancestors.  If  a 
man  was  tired,  he  drank  rum  ;  if  he  was  disappointed, 
he  drank  rum ;  if  he  required  excitement,  he  drank 
rum  ;  the  elders  drank  when  they  prayed,  the  minis 
ter  when  he  preached.  Rum  sustained  the  patriot 
ism  of  the  soldier  and  the  fatigue  of  the  ploughman ; 


PROGRESS  AND  REFORMS.          317 

it  kindled  alike  the  flames  of  devotion  and  the  fires 
of  revelry. 

"  Thus,  as  I  conceive,  were  laid  the  foundations 
for  that  enormous  extension  of  intemperance  which 
our  own  times  have  witnessed,  and  we  have  been 
called  so  often  to  lament." 

Therefore,  in  promoting  the  temperance-reform,  in 
cutting  off  the  means  of  gratification  in  this  quarter, 
Mr.  Judd  maintained  the  necessity  of  supplying 
something  to  take  its  place.  He  says,  "  The  friends 
of  temperance  and  humanity  have  not  fairly  won  the 
field,  until  the  morbid  thirst  of  the  inebriate  is  di 
verted  from  objects  of  low  sense  to  those  of  a  more 
spiritual  character,  his  self-respect  and  self-balance 
perfectly  restored,  his  powers  engaged  in  agreeable 
and  salutary  ways,  his  heart  succored  and  blest,  and 
his  whole  nature  regenerated."  He  recommended, 
"  as  a  preliminary  good,  that  they  should  open  coffee- 
shops,  furnish  them  with  books  and  newspapers, 
render  them  every  way  attractive,  visit  them  fre 
quently  themselves,"  &c.  He  insisted  that  the  in 
temperate  should  be  furnished  with  the  means  of 
innocent  pleasure,  relaxations,  and  agreeable  excite 
ments  ;  that  a  general  cheerfulness  should  be  dif 
fused  ;  that  music  should  be  cultivated ;  that  danc 
ing,  unexceptionably  regulated,  should  be  practised. 

The  following  is  the  concluding  paragraph  of  a 
sermon  upon  "  Intemperance,"  from  which  most  of 
the  extracts  on  this  subject  have  been  made :  — 

"  Finally,  my  brethren,  if  we  cannot  afford  to  love 
one  another  :  if  we  will  give  no  encouragement  to 
the  charities  of  life ;  if  we  refuse  to  be  exemplifies 

27* 


318  RELATION   TO 

of  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus ;  if  we  will  not  aid  in 
a  universal  dispensation  of  health  and  peace ;  if  we 
will  cultivate  no  sensibility  to  what  is  beautiful  in 
sight,  and  sound,  and  motion  ;  .if  we  will  not  facili 
tate  the  entrance  of  the  Spirit  of  God  into  the  hu 
man  heart,  by  every  form  of  address  ;  if  we  will  make 
of  the  journey  of  life  only  a  pilgrimage  to  the  tem 
ple  of  Mammon ;  if  we  will  prostitute  every  senti 
ment  of  virtue  to  the  lust  of  office  ;  if  we  will  resist 
the  inspiration  of  a  more  exalted  philanthropy ;  if 
we  will  not  descend  to  the  depth  of  human  affairs, 
and  apply  ourselves  to  the  springs  of  action,  and 
labor  on  a  scale  commensurate  with  our  farthest- 
reaching  hopes ;  if  we  will  offer  no  replenishment 
to  the  waste,  or  succor  to  the  wants,  of  humanity ; 
if  the  rigors  of  our  ancestral  theology  are  never  to 
be  softened ;  if  we  will  do  nothing ;  if  society  will 
do  nothing ;  if  the  church  will  do  nothing,  —  then, 
as  of  old,  the  rum-bottle  will  continue  to  be  the 
solace  of  New  Englanders ;  not  pledges,  not  socie 
ties,  not  laws,  will  save  us  from  plunging  into  that 
horrible  vortex,  —  so  deep,  no  light  from  heaven  will 
reach  us ;  so  deep,  heathenism  shall  shine  as  the 
brightness  of  the  sun  seven  times,  in  comparison 
with  us ;  so  deep,  nought  but  the  thunders  of  doom 
will  awaken  us  to  a  sense  of  our  condition." 

TREATMENT    OF    CRIMINALS. 

The  proper  treatment  of  criminals  was  another 
subject  that  engaged  Mr.  Judd's  deep  interest.  He 
held  that  this  should  be  reformatory  rather  than 


PROGRESS  AND  REFORMS.          319 

punitive.  He  had  so  much  faith  in  human  nature 
as  to  believe,  that,  however  depraved  the  course  of 
life  may  have  been,  there  is  still  some  uncalloused 
spot  in  the  heart  that  may  be  touched  by  kind  deeds 
and  gentle  words.  He  adopted  in  full  the  spirit  of 
the  old  proverb,  "  Beneath  every  jacket  there  lives 
a  man."  He  believed  the  testimony  of  the  New 
York  judge,  who  said,  "  I  have  never  yet  had  a 
criminal  before  me  for  sentence,  but  whose  feelings  t 
I  could  touch,  and  whose  heart  I  could  subdue,  by 
allusions  to  his  mother ;  "  and  remarks,  "  There  is  a 
mother-heart  in  all  children,  as  well  as  a  child-heart 
in  all  mothers." 

He  traced  much  of  the  persistence  in  crime  to  the 
practice  of  making  the  guilty  one  an  outcast  from 
society ;  one  in  whom  no  confidence  can  be  placed, 
of  whom  no  good  thing  can  be  expected.  And,  in 
this  relation,  he  would  quote  another  old  proverb, 
"  You  may  as  well  hang  a  dog  as  give  him  a  bad 
name."  With  the  Saviour,  he  would  say  to  the 
offending  one,  "  Neither  do  I  condemn  thee,  —  go, 
sin  no  more  ;  "  and  maintained  that  a  helping  hand 
should  be  extended,  a  readiness  to  forget  the  past 
manifested,  and  encouragements  for  regaining  self- 
respect  offered.  He  urged  that  our  prisons  should 
become  general  schools  of  reform,  and  not  abodes  of 
punishment. 

"I  know  it  is  a  received  maxim,"  he  says,  "that 
not  the  severity,  but  the  certainty,  of  punishment 
prevents  crime.  I  have  little  confidence  in  either 
mode.  We  must  seek  to  reform  the  criminal.  The 
most  dangerous  men,  the  dark  prowlers  through 


320  RELATION   TO 

our  community,  are  those  whom  we  have  punished 
in  our  prisons." 

As  to  Capital  Punishment,  he  believed  it  inter 
dicted  by  the  whole  spirit  of  the  New  Testament, 
and  totally  inexpedient  as  a  means  of  preventing 
crime ;  and  he  was  filled  with  horror  at  the  thought 
of  judicially  slaying  a  fellow-man. 

•  MISCELLANEOUS   REFORMS. 

He  wished  the  distinctions  between  the  rich  and 
the  poor  might  be  narrowed  down  to  the  simple 
basis  of  Christian  relationship ;  that  the  poor  should 
not  indulge  in  envyings  and  jealousies  of  the  rich ; 
that  the  rich  should  not  despise  the  poor,  but  honor 
humble  merit,  and  aid  and  encourage  honest  efforts 
to  rise.  He  would  bring  Victoria  Square  and 
Kunckle  Lane  together  at  the  Assembly-room  of  the 
Griped  Hand ;  have  them  shake  hands  and  converse 
together  like  Christians,  though  certain  people  might 
not  know  where  it  would  stop,  though  it  might  per 
chance  go  on  through  this  world  into  the  next.  He 
maintained  the  dignity  of  labor,  and  that  true  honor 
arises  not  from  condition,  but  from  acting  well  one's 
part,  whatever  it  may  be. 

"As  regards  Woman,  and  her  grievances  and  aspi 
rations,"  he  says,  "  if  she  is  not  king,  she  is  queen  of 
home ;  she  is  mistress  of  a  peculiar  sphere ;  she  is 
the  head  of  a  wonderful  empire ;  and  allow  me  to 
add,  that,  in  proportion  as  home  is  made  attractive, 
men  will  stay  at  home,  and  women  can  in  this  way 
come  to  rule  the  men.  Let  me  add  this  also,  that 


PROGRESS    AND    REFORMS.    ' 


much  of  the  vice  of  the  world  results  from  the  prac 
tice  of  going  from  home  in  pursuit  of  excitement  or 
pleasure  ;  and,  if  woman  will  make  home  pleasant 
and  genial,  she  will  do  not  a  little  towards  uprooting 
vice  and  redeeming  the  world." 

And   in    "  Philo,"    in    answer   to   the    question, 
"  What  is  woman's  mission  ?  "  he  says  :  — 

"  Her  effect 

Lies  not  in  voting,  warring,  clerical  oil, 
But  germinating  grace,  forth  putting  virtue, 
The  Demosthenic  force  of  secret  worth, 
And  Pantheism  of  truth  and  holiness. 
....  Need  she  push,  when  through  all  crowds 
She  melts  like  quicksilver!  .... 
Her  action  is  not  running,  nor  her  forte 
To  nod  like  Jove,  and  set  the  earth  a  shaking. 
Silent,  she  speaks  ;  and  motionless,  she  moves  ; 
As  rocks  are  split  by  wedges  of  froze  water. 


If  woman  feels  the  sacred  fire  of  genius, 
Give  her  the  liberty  to  genius  owed. 
But  the  world's  greatness  is  diminutive, 
And  what  is  small  the  true  magnificence, 
And  a  good  mother  greater  than  a  queen. 

There's  work  enough  for  any  woman,  great 
In  character  and  consequence  as  man's." 

Mr.  Judd's  ideas  in  regard  to  Foreign  Missions 
were  in  consonance  with  the  same  general  philosophy 
of  beginning  with  the  roots  rather  than  with  the 
branches.  "While  preparing  for  the  ministry,  he 
writes  in  his  Journal :  "  As  to  foreign  missions,  I 
would  go ;  but  there  is  war  among  Christian  nations, 
slavery  in  our  own,  Christian  sailors  intemperate, 
licentious.  Christian  nations  must  first  be  converted . 
I  am  oppressed."  The  same  views  he  always  had, 


RELATION    TO 

that,  as  long  as  the  example  of  Christian  nations  was 
so  ill  a  recommendation  of  their  religion,  so  long  as 
such  great  and  glaring  evils  existed  in  connection 
with  it,  the  Christian  missionary  had  very  little 
encouragement  for  attempting  to  Christianize  the 
heathen.  His  sympathies  were  therefore  much  more 
in  the  direction  of  home-reforms,  of  bringing  our 
own  people  up  to  the  standard  and  spirit  of  pure 
Christianity,  than  in  that  of  efforts  abroad.  He 
believed  the  heathen  much  better  off  as  they  are, 
than  the  great  mass  of  people  in  professedly  Christian 
countries. 

Mr.  Judd's  treatment  of  the  subject  of  Death  — 
though  not  essentially  differing  from  that  of  other 
clergymen  of  his  faith  —  might  perhaps  not  inap 
propriately  find  a  place  under  the  head  of  reforms. 
Instead  of  dwelling  mostly  on  the  shroud,  the  pall, 
and,  by  a  preponderance  of  lugubrious  expressions, 
seeming  almost  to  leave  the  spirit  as  well  as  its  tem 
porary,  its  earth-garment,  in  the  dark  night  of  the 
tomb,  —  in  the  true  spirit  of  our  Christian  faith,  he 
gave  chief  prominence  to  the  fact,  that,  in  what  we 
name  death,  the  soul  is  only  making  an  important 
stride  in  its  existence  ;  that  then  indeed  commences 
its  truest  life,  and  from  that  point  might  well  be 
dated  its  real  birth.  In  the  fulness  of  his  belief  in 
God,  in  heaven,  in  the  soul's  immortality,  his  funeral 
services  tended  to  draw  aside  the  veil  between  us 
and  the  invisible,  and  let  in  a  flood  of  cheerful  con 
fidence  upon  the  bereaved  ones,  that  it  is  but  a 
temporary  separation,  and  that  the  departed  one  is 
in  no  very  just  sense  lost  to  those  that  survive.  He 


PROGRESS    AND    REFORMS.  323 

thus  caused  light  to  emanate  from  the  apparent  dark 
ness,  and  fill  the  heart  with  buoyant,  Christian  hope. 

Instead  of  shutting  out  the  light  of  day,  and 
shrouding  in  darkness  and  gloom  the  dwelling  from 
which  an  enfranchised  soul  had  sped  its  flight,  he 
would  allow  the  cheering  sunbeams  to  penetrate, 
and  the  blue  sky,  with  its  serene  depths  and  soft 
clouds,  like  angel-attendants,  to  look  in.  Flowers, 
and  whatever  art  could  furnish  of  appropriate  beauty 
and  suggestiveness,  he  thought  the  fitting  garniture 
of  the  chamber  of  death.  He  did  not  approve  of 
draping  the  whole  person  in  weeds,  and  spreading  an 
air  of  hopelessness  and  melancholy  over  every  thing. 
At  the  same  time,  he  felt  there  was  something  fitting 
and  in  unison  with  our  natural  sensibilities,  in  the 
wearing  of  some  simple  badge,  some  outward  symbol 
of  love  and  remembrance  of  those  taken  from  our 
sight  and  our  palpable  communion. 

Here  are  his  own  words  in  relation  to  the  sub 
ject  :  — 

"We  get  the  somberest  hues  of  the  dye-house, 
and  bury  our  persons  and  our  griefs  deep  in  night. 
Why  is  black  the  chosen  color  of  death  ?  Some 
people  wear  blue,  some  white,  in  token  of  mourning. 
I  shall  not  enter  into  the  question  whether  weeds 
shall  be  entirely  discarded.  Undoubtedly  some  out 
ward  symbol  has  its  congeniality  and  appropriate 
ness.  But  why  should  we  make  our  mourning  so 
mournful  ?  But  the  reasonableness  of  black  has  not 
occurred.  It  is,  indeed,  suited  to  certain  views  of 
death  and  the  grave,  but  only  to  the  darkest,  atheistic 
side  of  the  case.  It  strikes  me  that  some  lighter 


324  RELATION    TO 

color  would  as  well  become  the  Christian  and  the 
Christian  death.  We  talk  of  the  heathen,  of  their 
dark  views  of  death ;  but  what  impression  of  dark 
ness  could  be  greater  than  that  of  one  of  our  own 
funeral  scenes  ?  How  black  the  hearse  is,  and  the 
pall,  and  the  procession !  Can  it  be,  a  Heathen 
might  ask,  that  those  persons  have  hope  in  death  ? 
I  do  not  say,  my  hearers,  that  black  should  l>e  dis 
pensed  with.  I  cannot  say,  if  God,  in  his  providence, 
should  remove  by  death  those  I  love,  but  I  should 
like  to  wear  it.  But,  at  least,  let  us  illuminate  this 
darkness  of  our  vestments  by  some  cheer,  some  hope, 
some  serenity  in  our  hearts." 

COMMON    SCHOOLS. 

In  the  elevation  and  improvement  of  common 
schools,  Mr.  Judd  was  much  concerned.  For  several 
years,  as  has  been  stated,  he  was  a  member  of  the 
Superintending  School  Committee  in  Augusta.  He 
urged  the  importance  of  improvements  in  school- 
houses  and  their  appendages.  "  Many  school- 
houses,"  he  says  in  one  of  his  annual  reports,  "  are 
badly  placed  ;  crowded  upon  the  street,  half  afloat  in 
mud  in  the  spring,  smothered  in  dust  in  summer ; 
without  trees,  without  blinds,  without  suitable  out 
buildings,  without  a  yard  for  the  children  to  play 
in.  The  edge  of  a  public  street  is  the  worst  possible 
site  for  a  school-house.  Is  land  so  valuable,  that 
the  house  cannot  be  withdrawn  four  or  five  rods 
further  from  the  highway  ?  One  would  imagine  there 
was  a  conspiracy  on  the  part  of  the  landowners  to 


PROGRESS    AND    REFORMS. 


drive  the  school-house  just  as  far  into  the  road  as 
possible  ;  as  if  the  school-house  were  a  wild  animal 
that  no  one  could  tolerate  on  his  premises." 

He  strove  to  effect  a  reform  in  the  relations  of 
parents  to  schools.  It  struck  him  as  a  deplorable 
insensibility  on  the  part  of  parents,  that,  year  after 
year,  they  should  send  their  children  where  they 
were  receiving  impressions  lasting  as  their  lives, 
without  even  seeing  the  person  to  whom  was  en 
trusted  the  moulding  of  their  characters,  or  scarcely 
the  place  and  its  appointments  which  were  to  give  a 
coloring  to  their  growing  years.  "  The  great  defect 
under  which  the  schools  suffer,  the  leading,  crown 
ing  defect,"  he  writes,  in  his  report,  "is  the  lack  of 
interest  on  the  part  of  parents.  Of  the  thousands  in 
the  town  who  sustain  the  most  interesting  relation 
to  the  children,  hardly  one,  during  the  past  year,  has 
visited  a  school.  It  is  a  culpable,  an  unpardonable 
negligence  ;  a  negligence  well  nigh  fatal  to  the  well- 
being  of  the  school  ;  one  that  does  more  evil  than 
any  efforts  of  the  committee  can  do  good,  that  neu 
tralizes  the  exertions  of  the  most  skilful  teacher,  and 
operates  sadly  to  defeat  the  great  ends  of  our  educa 
tional  system.  Those  who  will  not  hire  a  bog-digger 
without  superintending  his  labors  do  not  go  near 
one  whom  they  employ  to  cultivate,  develop,  and 
form  the  mind  and  morals  of  their  children. 

"  The  occasional,  informal,  kind,  and  cordial  pre 
sence  of  the  fathers  and  mothers  in  the  school  would 
animate  and  encourage  both  teacher  and  scholar.  It 
would  promote  good  order,  repress  insubordination, 
anticipate  and  nip  in  the  bud  those  troubles  that  are 

28 


326  RELATION    TO 

liable  at  any  moment  to  break  out.  It  is  due  to 
the  school,  due  to  the  expense  lavished  upon  it, 
to  the  hopes  founded  upon  it,  to  the  hazard  that 
evermore  attends  it,  that  it  be  visited  by  parents. 
It  might  be  intimated,  that,  as  a  general  thing,  the 
parents  in  a  district  have  no  right,  no  moral  right,  to 
prefer  complaints  against  a  teacher  on  the  ex  parte 
statements  of  the  children.  Their  first  duty  is  to 
go  to  the  school,  examine  for  themselves,  confront 
teacher  with  scholar,  observe  the  routine  of  instruc 
tion  and  discipline,  and  see  if  there  be  sufficient 
ground  of  complaint. 

"  Parents  sometimes  complain  of  their  children 
being  rudely  beaten  in  school :  if  they  would  visit 
the  school  occasionally,  such  instances  of  severity 
would  not  occur.  They  complain  that  their  children 
are  neglected :  these  visits  would  prevent  such  ne 
glect.  They  complain  that  the  teacher  has  a  bad 
spirit :  these  visits  would  tend  to  rectify  and  repress 
this  spirit. 

"  Let  the  committee  do  what  it  can,  there  will  be 
a  large  field  for  parental  exertion,  vigilance,  and 
oversight.  Let  the  fathers  go  into  the  school  as 
they  have  opportunity.  Let  the  mothers,  two  or 
three  of  them  together,  take  their  knitting  or  their 
sewing,  and  sit  an  hour  or  two  in  the  school." 

He  sought  to  have  the  practice  of  flagellation,  or 
any  mode  of  corporal  punishment,  done  away  with, 
and  believed  that  moral  government  might,  with 
infinite  advantages,  be  substituted  in  its  place. 

He  regarded  it  a  great  defect,  that,  while  almost 
every  art  and  science  was  simplified,  and  brought 


PROGRESS    AND    REFORMS.  327 

down  to  the  comprehension  of  the  young,  so  that 
they  could  easily  become  acquainted  with  its  general 
principles,  the  science  of  morals,  in  familiar  illus 
trations  of  its  principles,  and  ready  application  to 
the  common,  daily  intercourse  of  man  with  man, 
of  child  with  child,  had  not  a  prominent  place  in 
schools  ;  and,  through  his  urgency  of  this  need,  his 
suggestions  and  encouragement,  the  "  Manual  of 
Morals  "  was  prepared,  to  supply,  as  best  it  might, 
this  deficiency  in  popular  school-books. 

In  his  sense  of  the  vast  importance  of  right  culture 
and  general  improvement  to  the  young,  as  already 
alluded  to,  he  met  classes  of  young  ladies  for  literary, 
as  well  as  moral,  advancement.  The  boys  and  girls, 
of  whatever  denomination,  with  whom  he  became 
acquainted  in  the  schools  and  other  ways,  he  invited 
to  his  study,  and  offered  to  lend  them  books,  on  the 
single  condition  that  they  should  be  well  treated  and 
punctually  returned.  And  often  might  be  seen  one 
and  another,  with  bright,  grateful  face,  returning  a 
volume  that  had  given  some  new  interest,  or  awa 
kened  a  thirst  for  further  knowledge,  and  receiving 
another  chosen  with  reference  to  his  mental  condition, 
•  and  dismissed  with  some  pertinent  and  suggestive 
remark  which  would  fix  itself  in  his  memory.  And 
thus  Mr.  Judd  caused  his  private  library  to  circulate 
to  a  considerable  extent  around  the  town. 

PUBLIC   IMPROVEMENTS. 

All  the  great  internal  improvements  of  the  country 
he  watched  with  close  attention.     In  the  subject  of 


328  RELATION   TO 

railroads  and  plank-roads  no  man  took  a  greater 
interest,  and  few  probably  were  better  informed. 
But  it  was  chiefly  in  relation  to  their  influence  in 
binding  together  the  great  human  family  in  bonds 
of  brotherly  fellowship  that  he  rejoiced  to  see  them 
extended.  He  believed,  that,  if  people  could  be 
brought  to  know  each  other,  there  would  be  less  nar 
rowness  of  views,  fewer  party-strifes  ;  that  sectional 
jealousies  would  diminish,  and  the  interests  of  the 
race  be  advanced.  He  thus  beheld,  in  railways  and 
their  attendant  wires  for  the  transmission  of  thought, 
the  engines  of  a  higher  civilization,  and,  in  the  end, 
of  a  more  extensive  promulgation  of  Christianity. 
Indeed,  he  was  never  known  to  avail  himself  of  the 
electoral  franchise,  except  in  carrying  forward  an 
enterprise  of  this  kind,  which  was  to  some  extent 
involved  in  the  pending  election. 

Nothing  in  the  progress  of  the  local  interests  of 
the  town  escaped  his  attention.  The  costly  experi 
ment  of  its  dam  for  facilitating  various  mechanical 
operations,  its  factories,  its  foundries,  its  ship-build 
ing,  and  all  sorts  of  machinery,  received  his  careful 
notice.  And,  when  Augusta  assumed  the  attitude  of 
a  city,  he  deemed  the  event  of  sufficient  importance 
and  seriousness  to  demand  a  sermon  upon  the  regu 
lations  requisite  for  promoting  the  physical  and 
moral  welfare  of  cities,  —  in  the  provision  for  an 
abundance  of  wholesome  air,  for  the  free  inflowing 
of  the  light  of  heaven,  for  the  bordering  of  streets 
with  trees,  the  affording  of  ample  space  for  gardens, 
and  the  securing  of  large,  well-laid-out  parks,  where 
something  of  nature's  sweet  influences  might  be 


PROGRESS  AND  REFORMS.          3£9 

enjoyed   by  those  whose  means  limit  them  to  the 
confines  of  the  city. 

Improvements  in  house-building,  as  to  taste,  eco 
nomy,  and  convenience,  he  sought  to  promote.  He 
was  thankful  for  Downing's  contributions  to  this 
purpose,  and  was  one  among  the  many  who  mourned 
his  untimely  loss  as  that  of  a  beloved  benefactor. 
His  own  pleasing  cottage,  the  first  of  an  improved 
style  of  building  in  the  town,  gave  an  impetus  to 
ornamental  architecture,  which  quite  changed  the 
appearance  of  its  neighborhood.  He  studied  care 
fully  and  philosophically  the  best  principles  on 
which  to  construct  hot-air  furnaces.  He  took  great 
pains  to  obtain  for  himself,  and  to  recommend  to  his 
neighbors,  improved  kinds  of  apples  and  other  fruits, 
and  garden  vegetables.  * 

HOLIDAYS    AND    RECREATION. 

Mr.  Judd  believed  in  the  salutary  influence  of 
holidays,  in  their  tendency  to  promote  peace  and 
good-will ;  to  bring  the  poor,  in  some  sort,  on  a  level 
with  the  rich.  He  believed  that  Christianity  has  re 
gard  to  this  festive,  recreative  element  of  our  nature ; 
that  recreation,  in  some  form,  is  a  God-ordained 
means  of  uniting,  harmonizing,  and  equalizing  man 
kind  ;  and  traced  many  of  the  evils  existing  in  our 
country  to  the  want  of  provision  for  the  recreative 
element  of  our  nature.  He  endeavored  to  make  the 
most  of  the  few  national  festivals  we  have,  and  would 
gladly  have  had  their  number  increased.  The  rural 
sabbath-school  festivals,  which  he  -did  so  much  to 

28* 


330  RELATION   TO 

encourage,  have  been  spoken  of.  The  observance  of 
birth-days,  marriage-days,  and  other  family-anniver 
saries,  he  thought,  had  a  happy  tendency.  He  was 
careful  to  have  his  church  trimmed  for  the  Christmas 
season,  and  held  a  public  service  on  Christmas  eve, 
and  always  provided  some  pleasant  home-entertain 
ment  to  make  a  merry  Christmas  for  his  children. 

While  he  honored  our  Puritan  fathers  in  the  main, 
he  could  not  but  see  and  regret  some  errors  into 
which  their  sterling  principles  led  them.  "  I  think," 
he  says,  "  they  committed  a  radical  error  in  abolish 
ing  all  the  papal  holidays,  or  in  not  substituting 
something  therefor.  We  have  Thanksgiving,  and 
the  Fourth  of  July,  and  Fast-day  when  the  young 
men  play  ball.  We  need  three  times  as  many  festi 
vals^:  or  the  least  that  may  be  asked  is,  that  our 
sabbaths  be  rendered  more  cheerful,  more  social, 
more  liberal.  The  Puritans  rejected  saints'  days ; 
but,  in  the  glorious  gospel  of  the  Son  of  God,  in 
this  new,  varied,  majestic  world  to  which  they  mi 
grated,  was  there  nothing,  in  the  infinite  conditions 
of  the  soul,  out  of  which  they  might  derive  occasions 
for  public  delight? 

"  Man  has  a  recreative  want ;  a  want  that  keeps 
its  place  side  by  side  with  every  volition  and  every 
action ;  a  want  importunate  in  its  demands,  and 
invincible  in  its  efforts.  This  necessity,  moreover, 
if  it  be  not  answered  in  ways  healthful  and  harmless, 
is  wont  to  betake  itself  to  what  is  injurious  and 
unlawful.  Nature  always  vindicates  herself;  and, 
if  we  maltreat  her  in  any  way,  she  is  sure  to  punish 
us.  Man's  recreative  want  belongs  not  to  one  part 


PROGRESS  AND  REFORMS.          331 

of  him,  but  to  all  parts ;  not  to  his  body  alone,  but 
to  his  mind  also.  Every  faculty  of  the  soul,  every 
function  of  the  brain,  every  muscle  of  the  flesh,  is 
subject  to  the  laws  of  action  and  reaction ;  must  bend 
and  unbend;  requires  recreation,  relaxation.  Man 
has  also  a  higher  need  than  mere  physical  rest;  a 
moral  need  of  gladness,  enlivenment,  peace,  joy; 
a  need  of  sympathy,  kindness,  love.  He  has  need 
of  humane  influences  that  shall  infuse  themselves 
through  the  centre  of  his  being ;  of  a  warm  friend 
ship  that  shall  embrace  him  fraternally ;  of  an  inspi 
ration  that  shall  vivify  and  exalt  his  powers ;  of 
friendly  voices  to  cheer  him  in  all  the  pilgrimage 
of  life ;  of  aids  in  his  endeavors,  strength  in  his 
weakness,  compassion  for  his  distress,  approbation  of 
his  honest  thought.  Agreeably  to  these  laws,  if  such 
needs  are  not  supplied,  man  becomes  cold,  hard, 
insensible,  selfish,  reckless,  desperate.  These  are 
laws  psychological  and  physiological,  spiritual  and 
material.  They  are  natural  and  divine  laws ;  they 
are  of  God's  creating,  and  binding  as  any  precept  of 
the  decalogue,  punitive  as  any  statute  of  the  uni 
verse. 

1  (  Recreations,  it  will  not  be  questioned,  have  been 
abused ;  they  have  been  perverted  to  sinister  ends 
by  those  who  devised  them ;  they  have  waxed  gross 
in  the  hands  of  those  who  employ  them.  All  this 
may  be  true,  and  .yet  the  general  principles  for  which 
we  contend  remain  unaltered.  The  origin  of  this 
perversion  is  traceable  to  the  early  age  of  New  Eng 
land.  Restriction,  that  should  have  directed  the 
course  of  the  stream,  laid  a  curb-stone  on  the  foun- 


332  RELATION    TO 

tain,  and  the  "waters  broke  forth  madly,  destructively. 
Recreation  took  the  form  of  pillage,  and,  while  it 
glutted  itself,  wasted  withal.  Young  men,  tearing 
themselves  from  the  coercive  grasp  of  parents,  magis 
trates,  ministers,  celebrated  the  achievement  in  a 
profusion  of  drunkenness.  Then  arose  a  species  of 
excess,  the  vestiges  of  which  remain  in  our  day, 
known  in  common  parlance  as  bursts,  bouts,  sprees. 

"  By  recreation  —  need  I  say  it  ?  —  I  do  not  mean 
merely  children's  plays  ;  nor  do  I  mean  circuses  or 
theatres  or  negro-songs  or  jugglery.  The  entire 
idea  includes  many  things  :  a  gentler  spirit  pervad 
ing  the  whole  constitution  of  society ;  a  gathering 
together  of  the  scattered  fragments  of  the  human 
family;  a  recognizance  in  all  of  brotherhood,  the 
divine  image,  and  immortality :  it  implies,  especially, 
a  ministry  of  refreshment,  agreeableness,  light  and 
truth,  kindness  and  love,  to  man's  whole  nature, 
physical  and  social,  moral,  intellectual,  religious. 
As  regards  particular  forms  of  recreative  action,  you 
will  hardly  oblige  me  to  say,  that  you  are  to  engage 
in  nothing  on  which  you  cannot  ask  the  blessing  of 
God  ;  nothing  that  does  not  so  fulfil  his  will  as  to 
promote  his  glory.  And  most  deeply  do  I  feel  it  to 
be  the  duty  of  the  wise  and  good  to  do,  what  our 
fathers  did  not,  —  provide  for  the  recreative  wants 
of  the  people. 

"  Society  owes  it  to  itself  and  to  its  members,  first 
to  give  recreation,  then  to  regulate  it ;  what  is  given 
freely  can  be  regulated  with  ease ;  sanctity  attaches 
to  the  munificence  of  the  generous  mind ;  what  is 
wrung  from  the  miser,  we  squander  without  remorse. 


.          PROGRESS  AND  REFORMS.          333 

Let  society  make  of  recreation  a  friend,  and  it  will 
cease  to  be  its  enemy ;  let  us  overcome  its  evil  with 
good.  Let  your  children  grow  up  with  the  idea  that 
they  may  practise  no  recreation  in  which  their  parents, 
if  not  participants,  shall  at  least  be  present  as  obser 
vers  and  wardens.  The  extremes  of  society  ought 
to  suspend  hostilities,  and  compromise  their  dissen 
sions  ;  the  sinful  gaiety  on  one  side  should  be  aban 
doned,  and  the  equally  sinful  severity  on  the  other ; 
there  is  the  common  ground  of  health  and  innocence, 
friendship  and  peace,  purity  and  virtue,  which,  for  a 
few  moments  at  least  of  life,  they  might  occupy 
together.  "We  ought  to  strive  for  a  pious  happiness 
and  a  happy  piety. 

"  Our  people  thirst  for  happiness,  for  recreation, 
for  something  festive ;  and,  when  a  man  is  not  sus 
tained  by  religion,  or  fed  by  literature,  when  there 
is  no  genial,  pleasant  occasion  to  call  him  out  on  the 
common  in  company  with  his  fellow-citizens,  he 
betakes  himself  to  his  bottle.  I  believe  happiness, 
on  a  large  and  general  scale,  is  not  unfavorable  to 
morality ;  and  for  this  reason,  when  all  are  happy, 
and  all  are  united  in  their  happiness,  there  is  no 
opportunity  for  individual  passion  and  selfish  desire 
to  be  very  active. 

"  There  is  something  unitary  in  our  pleasures ; 
more  than  there  is  in  our  passions  or  our  specula 
tions,  more  than  in  politics  or  commerce. 

"  At  these  times,  the  human  heart  is  mellow ;  it 
opens,  it  embraces.  Everybody  feels  as  everybody 
else  does,  and  all  love  to  have  others  feel  as  they  do. 
You  not  only  want  to  enjoy  yourself,  but  you  want 


334  RELATION    TO  ', 

others  to  enjoy  themselves  too.  As  a  merchant,  you 
want  to  do  more  business  than  your  neighbor,  and 
sometimes  you  contrive  to  get  away  some  of  his  busi 
ness  ;  but,  when  people  come  together  on  festive 
occasions,  then  they  want  everybody  else  to  be  as 
happy  as  they  are :  then,  indeed,  the  only  fear  is, 
that  others  are  not  having  a  good  time. 

1  s  A  holiday  is  equally  for  the  poor  man  and  the 
rich.  I  like  the  Fourth  of  July,  for  this  reason,  the 
poor  can  enjoy  it ;  and  I  love  to  see  them  thus  rising 
to  a  level,  from  which  no  one  can  drive  them." 

Mr.  Judd  makes  "  Margaret "  speak  thus  in  regard 
to  dancing  :  "  Another  distinct  and  stringent  law  of 
God  and  nature  is  recreation.  Of  the  many  kinds 
that  are  afloat,  we  have  been  obliged  to  use(  care  in 
our  choice.  What  would  Christ  approve,  what  is 
best,  we  ask  ?  In  what  can  all  ages  and  conditions 
unite  ?  What  relaxes  without  weakening,  is  cheer 
ful  without  frivolity,  and  offers  attraction  without 
danger  ?  Not  to  the  exclusion  of  other  things,  our 
election  has  fallen  on  the  dance  ;  a  species  of  recrea 
tion  enjoined  in  the  Old  Testament,  and  recognized 
in  the  New ;  one  practised  in  every  age  and  country, 
and  recommended  by  the  sanction  of  the  best  and 
greatest  of  men.  It  has  music  and  beauty  for  its 
garniture  and  strength.  Its  intrinsic  value  has  won 
for  it  the  approval  of  all.  We  sometimes  dance  on 
the  green,  sometimes  in  our  hall.  It  is  enjoyed  in 
all  families.  Parents  dance  with  their  children, 
husbands  with  wives.  It  has  supplanted  many 
ridiculous  games,  and  extirpated  cruel  sports.  It 
has  broken  up  drunken  carousals,  and  neutralized 


PROGRESS  AND  REFORMS.          335 

the  temptations  to  ardent  spirits.  Whatever  grace 
is  needed  in  person,  or  courtesy  in  manners,  it  ope 
rates  to  perfect.  It  brings  the  people  together,  in 
terests  strangers,  and  diffuses  a  serene,  whole-souled 
harmony  over  the  town.  It  has  no  boisterousness 
and  much  life.  It  embodies  the  recreative  element 
in  the  healthiest  and  holiest  forms.  Where  all  unite, 
there  is  no  excess.  We  praise  God  in  the  dance : 
it  is  a  hymn  written  with  our  feet.  I  would  dance 
as  I  would  pray,  for  its  own  sake,  and  because  it  is 
well-pleasing  to  God." 

Of  Christmas  he  writes  elsewhere :  "  Could  it  be 
really  felt  in  all  its  power,  as  that  which  signalizes 
the  advent  of  Christ  into  the  world,  it  would  help 
to  break  up  our  miserable  sects ;  could  it  fall  upon 
the  world  in  all  its  divine  weight,  it  would  be  *  as 
the  stone  cut  out  of  the  mountain  without  hands,' 
that  should  become  a  great  mountain  to  crush  the 
sins*  and  follies,  the  abuses  and  oppressions,  of  the 
nations.  .  .  . 

"  I  long  for  the  festival  of  peace,  for  the  jubilee 
of  freedom.  I  long  to  see  the  time  when  the  whole 
race  might  be  summoned  to  celebrate  some  great 
gala-day  of  brotherhood. 

"  Would  that  the  song  of  the  angels  were  more 
often  echoed  by  our  Linds  and  Parodis !  Would  that 
the  key-note  struck  up  among  the  stars  might  be 
taken  up  by  every  organ  and  every  choir  on  the 
globe !  Peace  on  earth,  good-will  among  men,  — 
think  of  that  as  breaking  out  in  the  stillness  of 
night ;  think  of  it  as  uttered  by  beings  from  another 
world ;  think  of  it  as  a  voice  poured  into  the  atmo- 


336  RELATION    TO 

sphere  of  this  our  earth,  and  as  floating  unceasingly 
in  all  winds,  in  all  storms  ;  a  voice  that  shall  never 
die,  till  men  really  come  to  love  one  another." 

IMPROVED    STATE    OF    SOCIETY. 

Mr.  Judd  yearned  for  a  generally  improved  state 
of  society,  for  a  millennium ;  such,  in  its  spirit,  as 
has  been  long  expected  by  the  great  mass  of  Chris 
tians,  but  the  preliminaries  of  which  they  so  incon 
sistently  reject. 

In  the  imaginary  picture  of  an  advanced  state  of 
society,  drawn  in  "  Margaret,"  among  other  features 
is  the  following,  touching  this  subject :  "  Our  festi 
vals  are  twelve  in  number,  one  for  each  month  in  the 
year.  Three  of  them  are  such  as  have  already  be 
come  national,  or,  at  least,  New  England :  the  Spring 
Fast,  Independence,  and  the  Autumnal  Thanksgiv 
ing.  Three  more  are  founded  on  the  Beatitudes, 
and  are  named  as  follows  :  the  Festival  of  the  Poor 
in  Spirit,  that  of  the  Peacemakers,  and  of  the  Pure 
in  Heart.  There  is  the  festival  of  Charity,  or  Chris 
tian  Love,  from  1  Cor.  xiii.  Then,  from  the  life  of 
Christ,  are  Christmas,  drawn  from  his  birth ;  Child- 
mas,  which  refers  to  his  holy  boyhood  and  youth; 
the  Festival  of  the  Crucifixion,  which  comprises  his 
strong  crying  and  tears  in  the  flesh,  his  temptation, 
his  bearing  his  cross,  his  agony  in  the  garden,  and 
his  death  -,  that  of  the  Resurrection,  which  includes 
his  transfiguration,  his  spiritual  anastasis,  his  being 
the  life  of  the  soul,  and  his  rising  from  the  dead. 
Then  we  have  the  Festival  of  the  Universal  Brother- 


PROGRESS  AND  REFORMS.          337 

hood,  taken  from  Christ's  interview  with  the  Samari 
tan  woman;  and  the  declaration  of  Paul,  that  in 
Christ  all  are  one.  We  have  also  twelve  other  fes 
tivals  in  the  monthly  recurrence  of  the  Holy  Com 
munion.  Our  bishop  has  also  proposed  a  system  of 
sabbaths,  which  he  pursues  with  tolerable  regularity. 
He  has  given  us  Baptismal  Sunday,  founded  on 
Christ's  baptism;  Children's  Sunday,  his  blessing 
the  little  children  ;  Unity  Sunday  ;  Atonement  Sun 
day,  '  that  they  may  be  one  in  us ; '  Regeneration 
Sunday,  *  except  a  man  be  born  again ; '  Repentance 
Sunday,  &c.,  &c. 

"  In  most  of  our  festivals,  there  is  a  short  reli 
gious  exercise  in  the  church.  The  Poor  in  Spirit  is 
a  season  of  sober  introspection,  humility,  and  prayer. 
The  Crucifixion  has  for  its  object  to  effect  within 
us  a  crucification  to  the  world,  and  of  the  world 
to  us.  Childmas,  in  May,  gives  several  holidays  to 
the  children.  They  have  a  May-pole,  May-dances, 
and  a  Queen  of  May.  They  go  into  the  woods  for 
evergreens  and  flowers.  In  the  evening  the  band 
play  for  them,  and  they  dance  with  their  parents  on 
the  green.  The  Resurrection  seeks  to  realize  for  us 
that  spiritual  resurrection  from  sin  which  St.  Paul 
strove  to  attain,  and  which  Christ  so  perfectly  en 
joyed.  It  also  looks  to  the  final  elimination  of  the 
soul  from  the  body.  The  Festival  of  Love  would 
advance  us  in  that  love  which  thinketh  no  evil, 
beareth  all  things,  is  the  bond  of  perfection,  the  seal 
of  our  being  born  of  God,  and  fulfils  the  law.  The 
Pure  in  Heart,  among  other  things,  is  devoted  to  a 
general  school-visitation.  The  school-houses  are 

29 


338  RELATION    TO 

filled  with  parents  and  friends ;  the  scholars  exam 
ined,  and  addresses  made.  The  election  of  the  May 
Queen  is  made  to  turn  somewhat  on  these  examina 
tions.  On  Peacemaker's-day,  we  decorate  the  church 
with  evergreens,  have  the  lion  and  lamb  symbolized, 
and  make  our  endeavors  for  private  and  universal 
peace,  seek  forgiveness,  and  proffer  restitution.  Our 
festivals  are  not  put  by  for  Sunday  j  but  when  they 
fall  on  that  day,  which  not  infrequently  happens, 
the  bishop  prepares  discourses  accordingly. 

11  Thus  is  the  whole  year  interwoven  and  girded 
about  by  our  beautiful  festivals  ;  some  of  them 
exceedingly  joyous  and  gay,  others  more  sedate  and 
reflective.  "What  Herbert  says  of  them,  I  dare 
not:  — 

'  Who  loves  not  you,  doth  in  vain  profess 
•   That  he  loves  God  or  heaven  or  happiness.' 

Yet  we  do  love  them  ;  and  that,  because  we  love  God 
and  Christ  and  happiness." 

So  also  in  "  Philo,"  with  reference  to  the  same 
ideally  regenerated  state  of  society,  he  writes  :  — 

"  Their  swords 

To  ploughshares,  spears  to  pruning-hooks,  they  beat ; 
Nor  ever  blacksmiths  gave  such  lusty  blows. 
They  rend  the  forts,  and  whoop  down  citadels. 
The  slaves  are  frolicking;  to-morrow  they, 
With  freeman's  will,  a  freeman's  work  will  do. 
The  alcoholic  fire  in  fire  goes  out; 
A  mob  of  advocates  the  gallows  touse; 
See  bands  of  exiles  singing  to  their  homes; 
Scrimp  jails  to  airy  hospitals  arise ; 
Cities  exude  their  poisons  as  a  fog; 
The  mephitism  is  banished  by  the  winds. 
The  Cumberland  road,  with  many  wagon-loads 
Of  reparations  for  the  Indians, 


PROGRESS  AND  REFORMS.          339 

A  mirthful  rabble  crowd.     There  is  a  town 

la  phalansteric  change ;  the  houses  move, 

As  trees  of  old,  to  sweet  synergic  pipes. 

See  gardens  multiply,  and  bulbs  increase ; 

See  tasteful  cottages  adorn  the  plains. 

Our  senators  eventful  progress  feel, 

And  meet  to  Christianize  the  Constitution. 

The  epoch  deepens,  wide  our  God  hath  rule ; 

Beyond  the  seas  prophetic  crises  thrill. 

Love  balances  their  power,  and  soothes  their  fears ; 

Their  ships  of  war  convey  millennial  rapture 

Around  the  earth ;  the  serf  to  burgher  mounts ; 

The  lazzaroni  weave  in  factories; 

The  Moslem  is  agape,  and  opes  his  mosque 

To  gospel-preachers.     The  glad  news  spins  on 

To  Ispahan,  and  shakes  the  Chinese  wall. 

Enough  for  one  day:  let  us  homeward  wend, 

And  in  our  hearts  the  solemn  lessons  tend." 


340 


CHAPTER  IX. 


AS      AN      AUTHOR 


GENERAL    CRITICISMS. 

FEW  authors  have  probably  undergone  such  dis 
cordant  criticisms  as  Mr.  Judd.  It  is  not  a  little 
amusing  to  compare  the  diverse  epithets  and  expres 
sions  bestowed  upon  his  works. 

In  the  various  observations  upon  "  Margaret,"  we 
find,  that  it  is  "  a  real  book,  the  buyer  whereof  re 
ceives  something  more  than  paper  and  printer's  ink 
in  exchange  for  his  money,"  and  that  it  is  "sheer 
nonsense,  from  beginning  to  end ; "  it  is  "a  true 
poem,  though  in  prose,"  and  "  too  stupid  to  waste 
time  upon ;  "  "a  true  prophetic  instinct  animates 
the  book,"  and,  again,  "  it  is  a  weak  and  silly  book ;  " 
"  a  full  conception  of  the  essence  of  Christianity," 
"  rank  blasphemy ;  "  that  it  is  "  no  jest,  but  the 
sincere  utterance  of  a  sincere  man,"  and  that  "the 
author  is  making  a  joke  of  his  readers  ;  "  it  is  called 
"  a  real  presence"  "  transcendental,"  "  a  puzzle  ;  " 
"  full  of  genius,  profound  in  meaning,"  "  nothing 
but  a  dull  attempt  at  joke  ; "  it  is  characterized  as 
"a  remarkable  book,"  "that  strange  production," 
"  an  extraordinary  book,"  "  a  wonder  of  the  age," 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  341 

"  an  evidence  that  an  American  literature  is  pos 
sible." 

We  find  also  that  "  it  is  a  book  not  likely  to  'be 
dismissed ;  that  the  author  evidently  has  stuff  in 
him,  sterling  metal,  that  rings  as  well  as  shines  ;  " 
that  it  is  "  the  only  American  book  that  has  ever 
been  -written  ;  "  that  "  its  descriptions  are  perfect  as 
the  paintings  of  Claude,  the  plot  full  of  dramatic 
interest,  the  characters  drawn  with  a  master's  hand ;  " 
that  it  is  "  an  original  book,  full  of  beauty  and 
power,  with  admirable  fidelity  to  nature,  having 
pages  striking  as  Carlyle,  quaint  as  Lamb,  graphic 
as  Washington  Irving." 

A  friend  writes  the  author  in  reference  to  "  Mar 
garet  :  "  "  The  rivers  and  the  forests  were  made  for 
you ;  nature  loves  you  with  a  peculiar  love,  and 
unlocks  her  golden  treasures  for  your  own  hand ; 
the  clouds,  the  streams,  the  pines,  all  live  in  your 
words  ;  and,  more  than  all  that,  I  feel  in  them  the 
beatings  of  the  great  heart  of  humanity.  I  read  it 
first  in  the  country,  where  I  could  hear  the  murmur 
of  the  bees  as  I  read,  and  the  whir  of  the  humming 
bird's  wing,  and  the  chatter  and  whistle  of  birds  ;  I 
have  read  it  since  in  the  city  by  my  own  fireside  ; 
part  I  have  read  in  silence,  part  aloud  ;  part  my 
wife  has  read  to  me,  and  part  I  have  read  to  her ; 
part  I  have  kindled  over,  part  I  have  wept  over,  part 
I  have  laughed  over  ;  part  I  have  wished  blotted 
out,  and  part  I  have  wished  written  in  letters  of 
gold." 

A  young,  unsophisticated  girl  says  :  "  '  Margaret ' 
herself,  it  seems  to  me,  represents  the  power  of  the 

29* 


342  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

innate  virtue,  the  unborn  religion  of  the  soul,  in 
forming  a  pure  and  beautiful  life.  She  is  a  bright, 
clear  rainbow,  spanning  the  volume,  —  one  end 
planted  where,  in  his  death-chamber,  '  Gottfried 
Briickman'  heard  fthe  echoes  louder  from  the  sha 
dowy  shore,'  the  other  resting  where  the  flower- 
wreathed  cross  points  heavenward  from  '  Mons 
Christi.' 

"  ( Chillion  '  is  a  high-strung,  sweet-toned  harp, 
with  the  '  music  frozen  '  into  the  strings,  and  no 
earthly  breath  warm  enough  to  loosen  it." 

In  regard  to  "  Philo  "  we  find  the  same  striking 
contrasts.  One  says  :  "  "We  have  read  this  dramatic 
poem  through,  giving  ourselves  up  to  it,  and  carried 
on  by  it  from  beginning  to  end ;  and,  if  we  can  trust 
at  all  the  impressions  left  on  our  mind,  it  is  a  poem 
of  uncommon  power  and  genius.  After  being  wrapt 
in  it  as  in  a  vision,  we  come  away  feeling  that  it  has 
been  good  for  us  to  be  there.  There  are  images  of 
remarkable  beauty,  on  which  the  soul  may  feed  in 
its  quiet  hours,  and  passages  of  such  boldness,  that 
no  writer  among  us  would  dare  venture  upon  them, 
or,  daring,  would  succeed  as  the  author  has.  Its 
philanthropy  is  large,  discriminating,  and  without  a 
sting.  The  poem  is  a  rich  mine  for  those  who  love 
minute  criticism,  and  will,  doubtless,  shock  some 
good  people,  as  the  book  of  Job  would,  if  it  were 
not  one  of  our  sacred  books.  There  is  an  energy  of 
expression,  a  Titanic  play  of  humor,  a  strength,  and, 
with  all  its  roughness,  a  delicacy  of  religious  feeling 
and  earnestness  of  purpose,  a  vigor  of  imagination, 
and  a  reverential,  loving,  living  faith  in  Christ  and 


AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

his  religion,  which,  may  more  than  compensate  for 
many  and  great  faults." 

From  another  we  have  these  comments  :  "  What 
an  Evangeliad  is  we  have  not  yet  learned ;  but  we 
suppose  it  to  be  something  bran  new.  There  may 
be  those  who  will  understand  this  book :  we  cannot. 
The  lines  have  '  ragged  edges,'  from  which  we  sup 
pose  it  was  meant  for  poetry.  Passages  which  we 
have  lighted  upon,  in  opening  the  book  at  random, 
read  like  very  gross  burlesque,  though  we  are  not 
sure  the  author  meant  them  for  such,  or  whether 
he  meant  any  thing  at  all.  The  work  seems  to  us 
a  crazy  jumble  of  Tom  Moore,  John  Bunyan,  Don 
Quixote,  Goethe's  Faust,  the  Westminster  Assem 
bly's  Shorter  Catechism,  the  law  of  Moses,  Theodore 
Parker  upon  stilts,  and  a  Kilby-street  auctioneer's 
catalogue.  What  with  bad  English,  broken-backed 
lines,  crazy  metaphors,  and  rhetoric  run  mad,  the 
whole  thing  is  about  as  grotesque  a  Mumbo  Jumbo 
as  we  have  ever  seen  dressed  up  for  the  amusement 
and  amazement  of  the  public.  It  may  be  all  meant 
for  joke,  for  aught  we  know ;  but  it  is  certainly  very 
poor  fun." 

On  the  one  side  we  hear  said  to  the  author  :  "  Its 
plan  is  original,  its  flow  melodious,  its  scenes  graphic, 
its  thoughts  often  profound  ;  and  the  force  of  genius 
is  felt  through  it,  bearing  one  up,  and  huriying  one 
forward  from  beginning  to  end.  Your  children  and 
your  children's  children  may  be  proud  of  it,  to  the 
fourth  and  fifth  generation.  There  are  immortal 
things  in  it  which  the  world  will  not  let  die."  On 
the  other  it  is  remarked :  "  Why  the  author  has  seen 


344  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

fit  to  string  together  so  much  commonplace  verse 
we  cannot  divine.  The  poem  is  not  only  not  beau 
tiful,  nor  at  all  fascinating  in  any  part  of  it,  but  is 
full  of  violations  of  good  taste,  in  the  verse  and  the 
sentiments.  We  are  sorry  we  have  so  little  to  say 
in  commendation." 

So  of  "  Richard  Edney."  In  the  judgment  of 
one,  "It  is  written  with  that  power  which  belongs 
only  to  one  who  has  power  and  intellectual  energy 
the  most  ample.  Through  the  whole  of  it,  there 
runs  a  deep  vein  of  thought,  pure  as  virgin  silver, 
which  is  brought  out  with  a  wealth  of  illustration 
in  characters,  in  incidents,  in  the  descriptive,  and  in 
the  narrative.  We  read  it  with  the  interest  with 
which  we  read  e  Jane  Eyre,'  but  with  a  thousand 
times  the  more  satisfaction.  There  are  delineations 
of  character,  almost  without  number,  that  are  ex 
quisite  blendings  of  light  and  shade  in  human  being. 
The  volume  is  written  in  an  unostentatious  style  ; 
yet  it  abounds  with  passages  of  force  and  beauty." 
Another  says,  "We  found  the  reading  of  it  a  task, 
—  a  very  prosy  tale,  described  in  a  most  execrable 
manner.  There  are  few  good  things  in  the  book, 
and  innumerable  pages  of  prolixity,  commonplace,- 
twaddle,  and  jargon.  ...  If  it  were  not  for  the  high 
moral  tone  of  the  work,  we  should  be  tempted  to 
think  it  was  written  under  the  inspiration  of  gin  and 
water." 

But  enough  of  all  this  contradictory  testimony, 
serving  as  well  for  curious  specimens  of  the  diver 
sity  of  individual  taste,  modes  of  thought,  and  moral 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  345 

appreciation,  as  for  the  purpose  of  its  introduction 
here. 

In  an  unpublished  review  of  the  poems  of  Jones 
Very,  written  by  Mr.  Judd  before  he  became  an 
author  himself,  and  while  yet  in  the  Theological 
Seminary,  is  found  the  following  passage :  "  We 
shall  terminate  these  remarks  by  a  single  word  on 
the  nature  of  criticism,  which  is,  that  it  should  be 
akin  to  the  subject  of  which  it  treats.  What  springs 
from  the  intellect  merely,  may  be  treated  by  the 
intellect.  What  has  its  origin  in  the  soul  must  be 
treated  by  the  soul.  A  genuine  production  of  the 
soul,  whether  it  be  great  or  small,  deserves  a  reve 
rential  consideration.  It  should  be  examined  by  its 
own  standards.  It  should  be  judged  for  what  it  is, 
not  for  what  it  is  not.  This,  it  will  be  seen,  allows 
little  room  for  comparative  criticism,  that  Procrustes 
of  all  authors  and  artists.  A  violet  is  a  violet,  and 
should  be  approved  for  what  it  is,  not  because  it  is 
not  a  rose.  This  rule  of  judgment  also  obliges  us 
to  collate  and  compare  both  the  author  and  his  work. 
What  springs  from  the  soul  has  a  meaning  agreeably 
to  that  soul.  If  it  be  a  genuine  production,  there 
will  be  found  to  exist  a  correspondence,  and  a  re.- 
flection  of  lights  from  one  to  the  other.  It  is  in 
vain  that  we  seek  to  detach  a  work  of  genius  from 
its  author.  Its  design  is  alone  appreciable  through, 
and  it  can  alone  be  understood  by,  knowing  what 
he  is.  There  is,  in  all  minds,  an  instinctive  pro 
pensity,  an  insatiable  longing,  to  trace  back  a  pro 
duction  to  its  source.  If  a  man  be  false  to  what  he 


346  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

has  written,  all  voices  condemn  him,  and  his  work 
even  fades  from  public  estimation." 

And  further,  he  says  :  "  Why  should  a  man  who 
speaks  from  the  impersonal,  boundless,  authorita 
tive  depths  of  his  own  nature  trim  and  palaver  to 
public  taste  ?  What  is  public  taste  to  him  ?  If  there 
be  souls  like  his  own,  they  will  appreciate  what  he 
says.  If  not,  how  vain  the  task  of  accommodation 

•*  * 

to  shallow  and  partial  intellects  !  No  power  of  criti 
cism  can  make  a  piece  of  clay  lustrous  as  a  flower : 
the  flower,  though  it  be  but  the  humblest,  shows  its 
own  colors,  exhales  its  own  fragrance." 

It  would  seem  that  these  lines  might  have  been 
penned  with  a  self-justificatory  reference  to  the  criti 
cisms  passed  upon  his  own  writings. 

It  is  not  the  object  of  this  chapter  to  go  into  a 
critical  examination  of  the  literary  merits  or  demerits 
of  Mr.  Judd's  works.  The  aim  is  rather  to  show 
his  own  true  stand-point  in  them  ;  the  heart-prompt 
ings  from  which  they  originated ;  his  truth  to  him 
self  in  them  ;  and,  instead  of  aspirations  for  per 
sonal  fame,  the  burning  purpose  of  elevating  and 
spiritualizing  the  race,  which  inspired  him  at  the 
outset,  and  led  him  on  through  all. 

Never,  from  his  earliest  student-life,  had  Mr. 
Judd  that  inkling,  often  existing  in  the  youthful 
brain,  of  seeing  himself  in  print.  His  ambition 
never  led  at  all  in  the  direction  of  notoriety ;  but, 
on  the  contrary,  his  natural  sensitiveness  and  dif 
fidence  impelled  him  to  shrink  from  it.  He  was 
far  from  having  any  tendency  to  loquacity,  either 
with  his  lips  or  with  his  pen.  He  always  thought 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  347 

industriously,  but  uttered  comparatively  little.  He 
spoke  when  lie  had  something  within  to  say.  He 
never  went  through  an  apprenticeship  of  newspaper 
paragraphs  and  poetry,  or  of  magazine-essays  and 
tales.  Any  impulse  of  the  kind  which  he  ever  felt 
was  stimulated  by  the  sense  of  a  moral  or  religious 
demand,  or  of  some  irrepressible  feeling  of  his  own 
heart. 

His  very  first  thought  of  authorship  was  that  of  a 
little  volume,  prompted,  during  his  early  religious 
experience,  by  a  sense  of  his  own  derelictions  from 
duty,  and  intended  as  a  warning  to  young  Christians 
to  beware  of  the  incipient  temptations  to  worldliness 
and  sin.  But  this  was  never  carried  into  effect. 

At  a  later  period,  when  suffering  so  keenly  from 
mental  despondency  and  nervous  wretchedness,  he 
conceived  the  idea  of  a  tale,  chiefly  illustrative  of 
"  The  Philosophy  of  the  Affections,"  —  the  deep 
things  of  the  heart,  its  yearnings  and  disappoint 
ments,  its  aspirations  and  its  sufferings.  Towards 
carrying  out  this  plan,  he  wrote  quite  a  number  of 
pages  j  but,  on  regaining  a  more  healthful  tone 
of  feeling,  and  entering  upon  the  duties  and  inte 
rests  of  his  profession,  he  abandoned  the  further 
execution  of  it. 

"While  he  continued  to  appreciate  the  wants  of  the 
individual  heart,  to  take  interest  in  their  varying 
phases,  and  to  sympathize  deeply  with  the  suffering 
spirit,  these  had  taken  a  minor  place  in  comparison 
with  the  great  interests,  wrongs,  and  oppressions  of 
humanity  in  general.  There  came  flooding  into  his 
mind  an  increasing  sense  of  the  errors  of  the  day 


AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

of  mistaken  views  of  practical  religion,  arising  from 
falsity  of  creed ;  of  unchristian  practices,  supported 
by  legal  sanctions  j  and  of  a  state  of  society  falling 
far  short  of  the  Christian  standard.  He  had  the 
pulpit,  to  be  sure,  from  which  to  speak ;  but  the 
narrow  limits  of  his  own  church  were  to  him  a 
sphere  too  limited  for  urging  truths  of  such  univer 
sal  importance.  The  fire  in  his  bones  must  have  an 
outburst  in  some  way. 

"  MARGARET." 

To  meet  this  necessity,  he  laid  the  plan  of  a  story, 
which  should  exhibit  the  errors  of  a  false  theology, 
mistaken  zeal,  narrow-minded  religious  views,  and 
hypocritical  professions ;  one  that  should  set  forth 
the  evils  of  intemperance,  its  causes  and  cure ;  the 
mischiefs  of  the  war-system ;  the  unjust  treatment  of 
the  red  men  of  our  country ;  one  furnishing  conside 
rations  for  the  more  humane  treatment  of  prisoners, 
the  reform  of  criminals,  the  abolition  of  legalized 
life-taking.  He  wished  to  hold  up  avarice  to  view  in 
its  true  guise  and  its  legitimate  results.  Errors 
in  the  training  of  children  he  would  expose.  To 
nature,  with  her  countless  voices,  her  soothing  influ 
ence,  her  pure  and  holy  teachings,  her  infinity  of 
beauties,  to  whose  inspiration  his  own  soul  responded 
in  every  variety  of  joyous  note  or  mournful  tone,  he 
would  give  a  large  place.  Of  New  England,  as  it 
was  in  olden  times,  in  its  primitive,  country  simpli 
city,  its  modes  of  dress  and  rustic  sports,  its  training- 
days,  its  huskings,  its  Thanksgiving-festivals,  its 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  349 

stern,  Puritanical  faith,  and  its  natural  scenery, 
he  would  preserve  a  memoir.  To  a  pure,  noble, 
refined,  and  gentle  affection,  he  would  give  place. 
He  would  encourage  faith  in  humanity,  and  confi 
dence  in  its  advancement,  from  its  beautiful  develop 
ments,  even  under  the  most  unfavorable  circum 
stances.  The  omnipotence  of  goodness  he  would 
unfold.  The  possible  improvements  in  the  organi 
zation  of  society  he  would  have  believed  in.  The 
fond  hope  of  the  world  of  a  coming  day  for  the  full 
triumph  of  Christianity,  he  would  fain  have  realized. 
In  the  chief  character  herself,  he  would  develop 
something  of  his  own  experience  in  the  spirit's  power 
to  solve  for  itself  its  own  mysteries.  The  descrip 
tive  and  reflective  he  would  blend  in  attractive  har 
mony.  "Material  enough,"  as  has  often'  been  said 
of  his  works,  "  to  furnish  the  capital  stock  of  half  a 
dozen  respectable  volumes." 

His  idea,  in  the  outset,  undoubtedly  was  to  utter 
himself,  once  for  all,  on  these  subjects  which  lay 
with  such  importance  on  his  heart.  And  "  Marga 
ret,  a  Tale  of  the  Eeal  and  the  Ideal,"  was  the 
result. 

He  began  with  modest  self-distrust  of  his  own 
powers  for  such  a  work,  and  with  the  full  intention 
of  remaining  incognito.  He  took  no  one  for  a  model ; 
for  he  was  so  constituted  that  he  must  of  necessity 
work  out  his  own.  He  proceeded  industriously  and 
con  amore  with  the  work,  so  far  as  his  other  duties 
would  allow  him  time.  He  made  diligent  research 
into  antiquities,  overhauling  the  antiqu'arian  lore  of 
his  father,  searching  old  newspapers,  and  looking 

30 


350  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

into  old  school-books,  and  the  early  pamphlets  of 
the  country. 

July  4,  1847,  he  writes  to  his  father :  "  I  want 
very  much  that  you  should  get  for  me  any  books 
published  in  this  country  during  the  last  century, 
particularly  after  the  close  of  the  war ;  school-books, 
reading-books,  primers,  books  of  devotion,  &c.  &c. 
If  you  cannot  get  the  books,  get  their  names.  I 
want  to  come  at  what  may  be  styled  an  illustration 
of  that  period  of  the  country,  —  1783-1800.  Dress, 
literature,  &c.  &c.,  the  general  costume  of  the  time, 
what  influences  were  upon  it,  its  architecture,  &c. 
The  bdoks  that  I  want  are  mostly  those  that  have 
perished,  hence  a  difficulty.  Also,  if  you  could  lay 
hands  on  any  old  arms,  or  bits  of  dresses,  any  old 
furniture,  &c.  &c." 

He  visited  Westhampton,  his  birthplace,  revived 
his  early  reminiscences  of  relics  of  earlier  times,  and 
drew  what  he  could  from  the  older  inhabitants.  Its 
store,  its  noon-house,  its  horse-sheds,  and  its  meeting 
house,  furnished  him  material.  From  its  formerly 
stern  sabbath-keeping,  he  drew  somewhat.  The 
church-catechising,  and  the  hurrahing  on  the  setting 
of  the  sabbath  sun,  was  the  childish  experience  of 
himself,  his  brothers,  and  playmates.  To  Norwich 
"  Pond  "  and  ".Hollow  "  he  went ;  got  what  infor 
mation  he  could  of  an  old  herb-doctress  formerly 
living  there  ;  found  some  relics  of  a  peculiarly 
marked  people  that  used  to  inhabit  the  place,  and 
took  notes  of  peculiar  expressions  made  use  of  by 
them.  He  questioned  his  mother  and  other  elder 
relatives  as  to  all  the  lore  that  was  handed  down  to 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  351 

their  early  days,  —  the  cut  of  old  garments,  with 
their  names,  and  the  kind  of  stuff  of  which  they  were 
made. 

With  nature  he  held  deep  communion ;  and  anew 
she  revealed  to  him  her  secrets,  resplendent  with 
her  own  dewy  freshness.  He  made  ornithological 
excursions  into  "Malta  Woods,"  and  took  notes 
from  their  own  mouths  of  the  joyous  wild  birds  that 
had  just  returned  to  tell  of  their  winter  retreats, 
their  gladness  at  revisiting  their  old  haunts,  and  their 
hopes  for  the  coming  summer-time.  Not  the  hum 
blest  floweret  escaped  his  notice,  and  he  was  on  terms 
of  close  acquaintance  with  every  tree  of  the  forest. 

"  Margaret "  was  begun  about  1841,  and  com 
pleted  near  the  close  of  1844.  The  next  thing  was 
to  obtain  a  publisher.  The  manuscript  was  submit 
ted  to  several  publishing -ho  uses  in  Boston  for  exa 
mination  ;  but,  from  its  being  quite  out  of  the  general 
course  of  productions  of  the  kind,  they  were  slow  to 
take  the  risk  of  bringing  it  out.  At  length,  Munroe 
agreed  to  publish  it ;  but,  before  putting  it  to  press, 
he  suffered  a  loss  by  fire,  which  forced  him  to  give 
it  up.  Fortunately,  the  manuscript  escaped  destruc 
tion  ;  and,  soqn  after,  Jordan  and  Wiley  undertook 
the  publication  of  it,  the  author  being  responsible 
for  one-half  of  the  expense.  In  August,  1845,  an 
edition,  in  one  volume,  of  a  thousand  copies,  was 
issued. 

It  was  published  anonymously,  without  note  or 
preface,  and,  from  its  strongly  marked  characteris 
tics,  elicited  no  little  comment  from  the  leading  jour 
nals  and  magazines  of  the  day.  It  was  reviewed  at 


352  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

length  in  the  "  North  American  Review  "  and  the 
"  Southern  Quarterly."  The  "  London  Athenaeum  " 
devoted  its  pages  to  the  consideration  of  it.  Through 
a  personal  friend  of  Mary  Howitt,  the  author  learned 
that  she  was  so  much  pleased  with  it  as  to  wish  to 
republish  it  in  England. 

The  author's  incognito  did  not  serve  him  long. 
In  a  familiar  letter  concerning  it,  he  says :  "  The 
secret  of  the  book  is  somewhat  destroyed.  It  has 
been  tossed  about  so,  and  passed  from  hand  to  hand, 
that,  like  a  kitten  in  a  basket,  it  must  needs  mew, 
and  make  itself  known." 

To  the  stern  Calvinist  it  was  offensive  from  its 
liberal  theology.  Those  whose  hearts  had  been  un 
touched  by  the  interests  of  a  common  humanity, 
and  who  had  no  sympathy  with  the  movements  of 
reform  in  any  of  its  branches,  found  nothing  in  its 
spirit  to  interest ;  and  to  them  it  was  merely  dull. 
Those  deaf  to  nature's  voices,  and  blind  to  her 
beauties,  in  fault  of  all  else,  could  not  find,  even  in 
the  sweet  delineations  of  her  charms,  a  redeeming 
element.  The  regular  novel-reader,  who  looks  only 
for  a  story  of  thrilling  incident,  and  who  never 
dreams  that  an  author  can  have  any  o.ther  aim  than 
to  help  him  to  kill  time,  after  culling  out  the  brief 
story  of  Gottfried  Briickman  and  Jane  Girardean, 
threw  it  aside  as  too  tedious  to  finish.  Readers  of 
sensibilities  so  fine  as  to  think  manner  every  thing, 
and  matter  of  little  account,  were  shocked,  here  and 
there,  with  something  new  and  strange  to  them,  and 
gave  it  up  in  disgust.  Those  but  partially  acquainted 
with  the  riches  of  their  own  mother -tongue  found 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  353 

the  study  in  getting  at  the  sense  a  trouble  too 
great  to  recompense  the  benefit  of  perusal.  And 
the  professional  reviewer,  possessing  no  glimmer 
ings  of  genius  himself,  or  the  faculty  of  perceiving 
it  in  others,  but  well  skilled  in  applying  his  views 
to  the  Procrustes-bed  of  an  established  criticism, 
however  little  adapted  to  all  times  and  countries, 
and  however  effete  some  of  its  rules  may  have  be 
come,  found  his  subject  exceeding  the  just  limits 
so  much  here,  and  falling  short  so  much  there,  that 
he  was  forced  to  give  it  up  in  despair,  as  a  nonde 
script,  totally  unmanageable.  And  those  who  cannot 
admit  that  a  proper  "  style  is  the  man  himself,"  but 
would  have  it  rounded  off  by  other  models,  till  very 
little  force  or  individuality  remains,  found  it  highly 
unclassical.  In  short,  those  inviolably  wedded  to 
the  old  and  time-worn,  and  frightened  at  the  ad 
vancement  of  any  thing  new,  though  it  were  a  pre 
liminary  even  of  millennial  glory ;  who  have  no 
faith  in  progress,  in  the  regeneration  of  our  race,  in 
the  sufficiency  of  Christianity  to  effect  a  final  tri 
umph  to  itself,  —  to  all  such,  the  work  was  a  dead 
letter,  a  thing  with  which  they  could  have  no  sym 
pathy. 

Mr.  Judd's  idea  of  the  work  will  be  seen  in  the 
passages  following,  extracted  from  a  letter  — 

To  THE  REV.  E.  B.  H. 

"  AUGUSTA,  July  15,  1845. 

..."  The  book  designs  to  promote  the  cause  of 
liberal  Christianity,  or,  in  other  words,  of  a  pure 
Christianity :  it  would  give  body  and  soul  to  the 

30* 


354  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

divine  elements  of  the  gospel.  It  aims  to  subject 
bigotry,  cant,  pharisaism,  and  all  intolerance.  Its 
basis  is  Christ :  him  it  would  restore  to  the  church, 
him  it  would  develop  in  the  soul,  him  it  would  en 
throne  in  the  world.  It  designs  also,  in  judicious  and 
healthful  ways,  to  aid  the  cause  of  peace,  temperance, 
and  universal  freedom.  In  its  retrospective  aspect, 
it  seeks  to  preserve  some  reminiscences  of  the  age 
of  our  immediate  fathers,  thereby  describing  a  pe 
riod  of  which  we  have  no  enduring  monuments,  and 
one  the  traces  of  which  are  fast  evanescing.  The 
book  makes  a  large  account  of  nature,  the  birds  and 
flowers,  for  the  sake  of  giving  greater  individuality 
to,  and  bringing  into  stronger  relief,  that  which  the 
religious  mind  passes  over  too  loosely  and  vaguely. 
It  is  a  New  England  book,  and  is  designed  to  em 
body  the  features  and  improve  the  character  of  our 
own  favored  region. 

"But  more  particularly,  let  me  say,  the  book 
seems  fitted  partially  to  fill  a  gap,  long  left  open  in 
Unitarian  literature,  —  that  of  imaginative  writings. 
The  Orthodox  enjoy  the  works  of  Bunyan,  Hannah 
More,  Charlotte  Elizabeth,  the  Abbotts,  &c.,  &c. 
But  what  have  we  in  their  place  ?  The  original 
design  of  the  book  was  almost  solely  to  occupy  this 
niche ;  although,  I  fancy,  you  may  think  it  has 
somewhat  passed  these  limits.  It  seems  to  me,  that 
this  book  is  fitted  for  a  pretty  general  Unitarian  cir 
culation  ;  that  it  might  be  of  some  use  in  the  hands 
of  the  clergy,  in  our  families,  Sunday-school  libra 
ries,  &c.  My  own  personal  education  in,  and  ac 
quaintance  with,  '  Orthodoxy,'  as  well  as  my  idea  of 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  355 

the  prevalent  errors  of  the  age,  lead  me  to  think 
such  a  book  is  needed.  Will  your  judgment,  sir, 
sustain  mine?  or  am  I  mistaken?  That  another 
should  approve  the  whole  of  '  Margaret,'  is  more 
than  its  author  flatters  himself  to  believe ;  yet  he 
hopes  there  is  that  in  it  which  will  recommend  it  to 
a  pretty  general  perusal.  You  will  read  and  judge 
for  yourself.  The  book  furnishes  rather  a  hint  at 
important  principles,  than  any  distinct  statement ; 
and,  out  of  what  purports  to  be  a  history  of  men 
and  things,  it  is  in  the  power  of  the  reader  to  make 
his  own  conclusions.  The  author  wishes  to  hasten 
what  are  believed  to  be  the  peculiar  triumphs  of 
Christianity. 

"  With  sincere  regards,  I  am  yours,  &c. 

"  SYLVESTER  JUDD,  JR." 

The  most  appreciative  review  of  "  Margaret,"  and 
that  which  approached  most  nearly  to  Mr.  Judd's 
own  idea  in  it,  was  the  one  contained  in  the  "  South 
ern  Quarterly."  It  was  a  curious  coincidence,  and 
one  of  no  little  interest  to  Mr.  Judd,  that  this  article 
was  written  by  the  Rev.  Dexter  Clapp,  then  residing 
at  New  Orleans,  but  a  native  of  the  same  town  with 
him,  and  an  early  schoolmate ;  though,  at  the  time 
the  review  was  written,  the  author's  name  was  un 
known  to  the  reviewer.  A  few  of  Mr.  Clapp's 
remarks,  containing  a  general  summary  of  the  scope 
of  the  work,  are  subjoined.  "  As  a  romance,"  he 
says,  "we  regard  it  as  very  imperfect,  little  more 
than  respectable  ;  but,  as  a  record  of  great  ideas  and 
sentiments,  we  place  it  among  the  few  good  books 
of  the  age.  '  Margaret '  is  a  happy  illustration  of  the 


356  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

progress  of  the  actual  and  natural  to  the  ideal  and 
spiritual.  The  author  has  a  true  and  open  heart, 
and  has,  felt  the  power  of  genuine  love.  He  seems 
to  us  a  deeply  earnest  man,  really  anxious  to  serve 
his  race.  He  speaks  of  Christianity  like  a  Christian, 
with  eloquence,  power,  and  truth.  Pious  cant,  mere 
ecclesiastical  formalities,  he  treats  with  the  scorn 
they  deserve.  He  makes  them  appear  the  very  de 
formities  they  are,  and  a  real  service  to  religion  every 
man  does  who  exposes  any  of  the  forms  of  hypo- 
cracy.  We  believe  he  will  win  men  to  truth  and 
faith,  by  his  beautiful  and  striking  contrast  of  reli 
gious  pretensions  and  pharisaism,  with  simple  and 
unaffected  goodness.  He  is  a  teacher  of  sincerity. 
He  would  break  down  and  remove  all  those  forms 
that  tend  to  oppress,  and  limit  within  material 
bounds,  the  free  and  loving  human  heart.  With 
him,  forms  of  faith  are  nothing,  while  faith  is  every 
thing.  He  here  strikes  at  a  truth  which  the  world 
is  slow  to  learn,  but  one  which  lies  at  the  centre  of 
all  moral  progress.  He  goes  deeper  than  the  partial, 
varying  human  letter,  into  the  deep  and  universal 
spirit  of  Christ. 

"  The  work  contemplates  social  advancement  and 
reform.  Herein  is  its  immediate  and  chief  practical 
worth.  We  recognize  a  higher  truth  in  it  than  in 
any  other  writings  that  have  come  under  our  notice, 
which  advocate  the  reorganization  of  society.  He 
pleads  for  religion.  He  looks  to  it  as  the  only  agen 
cy  existing  in  the  world,  great  enough  to  work  out 
its  regeneration ;  and  carefully  does  he  distinguish 
between  the  substance  and  the  form,  between  the 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  357 

dead  letter  and  the  living  spirit.  His  faith  in  Chris 
tianity  is  sincere  and  deep.  He  believes  in  it  as  a 
growing,  ever-working  force.  To  its  keeping  he 
would  entrust  all  human  interests." 

James  Russell  Lowell,  in  his  "  Fable  for  Critics," 
paid  tribute  to  it  in  this  wise :  — 

"  Margaritas,  for  him  you  have  verified  gratis ; 
What  matters  his  name1?     Why,  it  may  be  Sylvester 
Judd,  Junior  or  Junius,  Ulysses  or  Nestor, 
For  aught  I  know  or  care;   'tis  enough  that  I  look 
On  the  author  of  '  Margaret,'  the  first  Yankee  book, 
With  the  soul  of  Down  East  in't,  and  things  further  east, 
As  far  as  the  threshold  of  morning  at  least, 
Where  awaits  the  fair  dawn  of  the  simple  and  true, 
Of  the  day  that  comes  slowly  to  make  all  things  new." 

A  very  gratifying  circumstance  to  the  author 
was  the  fact,  that  Mr.  Darley,  a  young  artist,  also 
residing  at  the  South,  who  knew  nothing  of  the 
author's  name  or  residence,  was  so  much  struck  with 
the  graphic  delineations  of  the  book,  and  their  truly 
American  character,  that  he  devoted  his  pencil,  in 
the  spirit  of  an  amateur,  to  a  series  of  outline  illus 
trations,  which  testify  alike  to  the  skill  of  the  artist 
and  the  genius  of  the  author. 

In  1851,  after  undergoing  a  careful  revision, 
"  Margaret  "  was  stereotyped  ;  and  a  new  edition, 
much  improved  in  external  appearance,  was  pub 
lished  in  two  volumes. 

To  this  edition  Mr.  Judd  prefixed  the  following 
"  Note,"  dated  Riverside,  Augusta,  May  12, 1851 :  — 

"  It  is  now  more  than  ten  years  since  '  Margaret 
was  commenced.     To-day  is  the  revision  of  the  work 
ended.    Not  without  sensibility  has  such  a  retrospect 


358  AS   AN    AUTHOR. 

been  gone  through  with.  Old  acquaintances  and 
familiar  scenes  of  the  imagination  are  not  less  im 
pressive  than  those  of  the  actual  world.  The  author 
cannot,  retrace  the  ground  of  these  pages,  without 
being  reminded  of  some  things  he  would  forget,  and 
others  that  he  is  too  fearful  of  losing.  The  book 
was  written  out  of  his  heart  and  hope.  Has  a 
decade  of  years  and  experience  vitiated  or  overset 
aught  of  that  heart  and  hope  ?  Going  over  the 
book  at  this  time  is  not  precisely  like  a  call  on  old 
friends  :  it  becomes  a  species  of  self-examination. 

"  In  the  result,  as  to  the  general  character  and 
drift  of  the  work,  the  author  finds  little  to  alter. 
Not  that  he  could  write  just  such  a  book  again :  he 
could  not.  But  he  cleaves  to  the  ideas  according  to 
which,  and  the  objects  for  which,  this  was  written. 

"  In  the  revision,  sentences  have  been  changed, 
not  sentiments  ;  and  the  expunging  process  has  re 
spected  words  more  than  things. 

"  '  Margaret '  was  never  designed  for  railroads  : 
it  might  peradventure  suit  a  canal-boat.  Eather  is  it 
like  an  old-fashioned  ride  on  horseback,  where  one 
may  be  supposed  to  enjoy  leisure  for  climbing  hills, 
and  to  possess  curiosity  for  the  trifles  of  the  way. 

"  It  is  proper  that  some  answer  be  given  to  obser 
vations  that  have  been  freely,  and,  it  will  not  be 
doubted,  kindly  bestowed  on  the  author  and  his 
labors  :  — 

"  *  He  is  too  minute  ;  he  seems  to  be  making  out 
a  ship's  manifest,  instead  of  telling  a  plain  story.'  — 
The  book  was  written  for  the  love  of  the  thing ;  and 
each  item  has  been  introduced  with  a  love  of  it. 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  359 

Every  bird  has  been  watched,  every  flower  pursued, 
every  foot-path  traversed.  No  author  can,  indeed, 
expect  the  public  to  share  his  tastes,  or  join  his 
recreations  :  he  does  solicit  a  charitable  construction 
of  his  spirit  and  purpose. 

"  '  He  is  vulgar.'  —  A  popular  tradition  declares 
tastes  to  be  indisputable,  and  imparts  to  them  an 
authority  which  belongs  only  to  revelation.  "We  are 
inclined  to  think  there  is  a  dispute  about  them  ;  and 
the  issue  may  as  well  be  made  up  first  as  last.  Is 
what  we  call  common  life,  are  those  who  pass  for 
illiterate,  uncultivated,  ignorant  people,  their  proper 
ties  and  reminiscences,  here  in  New  England,  to  be 
regarded  as  vulgar  ?  —  using  the  word  in  a  certain 
odious  sense.  To  take  an  instance  from  the  following 
pages,  —  and  that  is  where  the  question  is  carried, 

—  is  Obed  vulgar  ?     "We  aver  that  he  is  not.     He  is 
an  unrefined,  rude,  simple  youth  ;   but  in  all  his 
relations  to  Margaret,  —  in  all  the  little  part  he  acts 
in  the  scene,  he  is  courteous,  gentle,  delicate,  dis 
interested,  pure.     At  least,  he  seems  so  to  us.     "We 
may  have  failed  to  report  him  fairly.     But,  allowing 
him  to  be  such,  are  we  justified  in  pronouncing  him 
vulgar  ?    Is  Nimrod  to  be  accounted  a  vulgar-spoken 
youth  ? 

"  e  He  is  unequal,  grotesque,  mermaiden,  abrupt.' 

—  Here  are  involved  the  same  questions  as  before, 
What  is  vulgar,  and  what  refined ;  what  noble,  what 
mean  ?     There  are  standards  of  taste  valid  and  need 
ful.     But  is  not  the  range  of  their  application  too 
limited  ?      May  not    rough  rocks    have   a  place    in 
the  fairest  landscapes  of  nature  or  art  ?     May  not  a 


360  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

dark  pool  of  water  in  the  forest,  with  its  vegetable 
and  animal  adjuncts,  mirror  the  stars  ?  Have  we 
not  seen  or  heard  of  a  cascade  that  starts,  say,  from 
the  blue  of  the  skies,  pours  down  a  precipice  of 
rusty  rock,  and  terminates  in  drift-wood  and  bog  ? 
Is  that  water  bathetic  1  These  are  questions  we  do 
not  care  to  argue  here  and  now.  Are  they  not 
worthy  of  consideration  ?  Have  they  no  pertinence 
to  the  subject  in  hand  ? 

"  *  He  is  no  artist.'  —  If  what  everybody  says  be 
true,  and  what  almost  everybody  says  be  almost 
true,  to  this  iterated  charge  we  ought  to  gasp  out 
a  peccavi,  and  be  silent.  But,  good  friends  all,  a 
moment's  indulgence.  May  there  not  be  a  moral, 
as  well  as  a  material,  plot  ?  a  plot  of  ideas,  as  well  as 
of  incidents  ?  '  Margaret '  is  a  tale,  not  of  outward 
movement,  but  of  internal  development.  An  obvious 
part  of  its  plan  is  the  three  epochs  of  the  life  of  its 
principal  personage.  Another  part  is  the  times  in 
which  the  scene  lies.  Hose  belongs  to  the  plot  of 
the  book  ;  so  does  the  Indian.  Master  Elliman  has 
been  called  a  sort  of  diluted  imitation  of  Dominie 
Sampson.  The  plot  of  the  book  involved  this  ;  that, 
while  Margaret  grew  up  in,  or  contiguous  to,  a  reli 
gious  and  civilized  community,  she  should  remain, 
for  the  most  part,  unaffected  by  these  influences ;  yet 
that  she  should  not  mature  in  ignorance,  but  should 
receive  quite  an  amount  of  a  species  of  erudition. 
To  effect  this,  the  master  is  introduced.  The  man 
agement  of  this  part  of  the  tale,  it  need  not  be  said, 
was  one  of  the  most  difficult  problems  the  author 
had  to  encounter.  To  the  general  thread  of  the 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  361 

drama  a  variety  of  things  are  attached,  not  one  of 
which,  in  the  main,  is  not  conceived  to  be  tributary 
to  the  gradual  evolution  of  the  whole.  The  purely 
material  accessories  of  the  story,  being  deemed 
quite  insubordinate,  are  thrown  in  corners  by  them 
selves. 

"  The  book  takes  our  country  as  it  emerges  from 
the  Revolution,  and  does  not  bring  it  down  to  what 
now  is,  but  carries  it  up,  or  a  portion  of  it,  to  what 
it  is  conceived  should  be  ;  and  the  final  denouement 
may  be  found  in  the  last  part.  In  all  this  is  system, 
arrangement,  precedent,  effect,  and  due  relation  of 
things.  We  have  wished  herein  to  be  artistical : 
certainly  our  feelings  are  not  whimsical,  neither  is 
our  method  governed  by  any  conscious  caprice. 
How  far  we  have  succeeded,  it  is  not  for  us  to 
say.  We  would  thank  certain  ones,  assayers  of 
literature,  at  least  to  consider  what  we  have  at 
tempted  to  do. 

"  To  those  who  have  been  glad  at  what  the  author 
has  written,  he  extends  the  hope  that  they  may  never 

(regret  their  gladness. 
"  Those  who  disrelish  his  publications,  he  -knows, 
can  find  things  in  the  book-stores  to  their  liking  ; 
and  he  is  sufficiently  generous  to  wish  them  joy  in 
whatever  line  of  reading  their  fancies  or  feelings 
may  adopt." 

With  the  author's  interpretation  of  himself  just 
given,  we  will  lay  aside  "  Margaret,"  and  turn  to 
his  second  intellectual  offspring. 

31 


362  AS   AN    AUTHOR. 

"  PHILO." 

After  finishing  his  first  work,  Mr.  Judd  found 
that  he  had  still  certain  moral  ideas  floating  in  his 
brain,  to  which  he  had  not  given  all  the  prominence 
and  definiteness  he  wished.  He  did  not  care  to  put 
them  forth  in  the  form  of  essays :  he  did  not  wish  to 
discuss  them  in  a  formal  manner  in  any  way.  He 
had  never  accustomed  himself  to  write  in  verse, 
and  had  no  ambition  to  set  himself  up  as  a  poet. 
But,  in  casting  about  for  some  mode  of  utterance  for 
his  thoughts,  he  felt  that  the  laws  of  verse  would 
offer  many  facilities,  especially  in  not  requiring  a  set 
form  of  discussion,  and  in  allowing  a  style  suffi 
ciently  desultory  to  admit  the  variety  of  topics  he 
wished  to  introduce. 

So  he  thought,  at  least,  he  would  try  the  experi 
ment  of  versifying.  And,  seated  in  the  kitchen, 
with  his  feet  upon  the  stove-hearth,  near  the  close 
of  1845,  his  wife  discovered  him,  greatly  to  her 
surprise,  and  with  a  little  fear  as  to  his  sanity,  per 
petrating  the  first  lines  of  "  Philo,"  in  pencil,  on  a 
scrap  o/  paper  he  held  in  his  hand.  Thus  he  made 
a  beginning.  And  from  time  to  time,  when  various 
ly  employed,  and  sometimes  in  the  most  homely 
ways,  he  might  be  seen  taking  a  slip  of  paper  from 
his  pocket,  and  with  pencil  writing  down  lines  as 
they  came  to  mind.  But  these  sibylline  leaves  at 
length  began  to  take  the  form  of  a  systematic  work. 
Several  scenes  were  written.  And  by  and  by  the 
author  got  courage  to  read  them  to  a  few  of  his 
closest  personal  friends,  with  the  consciousness  with- 


AS   AN    AUTHOR.  363 

in  himself  that  he  was  not  a  native-born  poet,  as 
expressed  in  the  lines,  — 

"  Our  minister  is  a  new  hand  at  rhymes; 
He  rolls  them  off  as  teamsters  bales  of  cotton ; 
Waits  Art's  more  perfect  day  for  the  fine  tissue!  " 

Many  a  hearty  laugh  had  the  select  family-group 
of  listeners  at  these  sittings,  in  which  he  himself 
was  not  loth  to  join,  as  some  rude  measures  or 
unique  expressions  fell  upon  the  ear.  Yet  from 
them  he  received  encouragement  to  proceed,  and  his 
own  power  of  versification  increased  as  he  went  on. 
The  work  grew  to  its  destined  size.  It  embodied 
the  ideas  he  wished  to  send  forth  on  their  mission 
of  love.  He  revised  the  manuscript  with  care,  and 
gave  it  completion  in  the  commencement  of  1848. 
PhilUps  and  Sampson,  of  Boston,  issued  it  in  one 
volume  in  a  handsome  stereotype  edition. 

It  was  noticed  by  the  papers  and  periodicals,  much 
after  the  fashion  of  the  criticisms  upon  "  Margaret," 
—  hailed  by  many  as  a  true  Evangeliad ;  but  by 
those  who  did  not  even  understand  the  meaning  of 
the  word,  or  sympathize  in  the  idea  which  it  ex 
pressed,  it  was  of  course  condemned. 

At  the  time  this  poem  was  composed,  the  Mexi 
can  War  was  in  progress,  regrets  for  and  lamenta 
tions  over  which  seemed  to  penetrate  the  author, 
even  to  the  marrow  of  his  bones.  Among  other 
moral  evils  that  were  made  the  theme  of  caustic 
satire  and  bitter  mourning,  this  was  the  most  promi 
nent  burden  of  the  song. 

The  name  of  the  work,  "  Philo,"  was  given  with 
reference  to  its  character  and  mission.  The  grand 


AS    AN    AUTHOR. 


design  was,  in  the  spirit  of  love,  to  hold  up  in  their 
true  light  the  glaring  inconsistencies  between  the 
practices  of  this  professedly  Christian  country,  and 
the  spirit  of  the  gospel  of  Christ.  It  shows  this  in 
the  want  of  love  among  different  denominations 
bearing  the  Christian  name  ;  in  the  sufferance  of 
man's  enslaving  his  fellow -man  ;  in  the  hideousness 
and  heart-sickening  horrors  of  war,  that  "hybrid 
of  sin  and  death;"  in  the  doctrine  of  expediency; 
in  the  rejection  of  the  spirit  of  love,  faith,  and 
hope ;  and  other  kindred  points.  It  closes  with  a 
vision  of  the  general  righting  of  all  wrongs,  of  the 
spiritual  regeneration  of  the  world,  and  the  com 
mencement  of  a  reign  of  peace  and  blessedness  on 
earth ;  an  age  when  seraphs  shall  chant  anew  — 

"Glory  to  God  in  the  highest, 
On  earth  peace  and  good-will  to  man  !  " 

with  a  chorus  of  people  chiming  in, — 

"  Ages  burst  their  silent  tomb, 

.Years  of  God  begin  their  round ; 
Prophecy  fulfils  its  moans, 

Earth  in  Christ  transfigured  lies.' 

Mr.  Judd's  own  key  to  the  aim  of  this  work  will 
be  found  in  the  letter  following,  — 

To  REV.  E.  E.  H. 

"AUGUSTA,  Dec.  21,  1849. 

"  My    dear   Sir,  —  Will   you   accept   a   copy   of 
( Philo,'  and  a  brief  claviary  ? 

" First,  the  book  is  an  'attempt.' 

"  Second,  it  is  an  epical  or  heroic  attempt. 

"  Third,  it  would   see  if  in  liberal  and  rational 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  365 

Christianity,  and  there  is  no  other,  and  that  is  Uni- 
tarianism,  are  epic  and  heroic  elements. 

"Fourth,  it  remembers  that  Calvinism  has  its 
'Course  of  Time;'  and  it  asks  if  Unitarianism,  that 
is,  the  innermost  of  reason  and  divinity,  will  have 
any  thing ;  or  rather,  approaching,  humbly  of  course, 
the  altar  of  Great  Thought  and  Feeling,  it  would 
like  to  know  if  it  would  be  agreeable  to  that  altar 
to  receive  a  little  gift,  a  turtle-dove  and  a  small 
pigeon,  of  Unitarian  faith  and  hope. 

"  Fifth,  and  correlatively,  it  asks  if,  in  this  very 
sensible  and  sound  age  of  ours,  imagination  must 
needs  be  inactive,  and  awed  by  philosophy,  utility, 
steam. 

"  Sixth,  and  more  especially,  if  any  of  the  fore 
going  points  are  admitted,  the  book  seeks  through 
the  medium  of  poetry  to  interpret  prophecy.  It 
is  conceived  that  prophecy,  the  Apocalypse  for  ex 
ample,  was  once  poetry ;  and  moreover  that  we  shall 
fail  to  understand  prophecy,  until  it  is  recast  in  its 
original  form. 

"  This  observation  applies  particularly  to  that 
most  interesting,  yet  most  enigmatical  matter,  the 
second  coming  of  Christ,  &c.  &c. 

"  What  may  be  the  fortune  of  *  Philo,'  I  am  nei 
ther  prophet  nor  poet  enough  to  tell. 

"  I  am  not  a  beggar  of  applause,  as  I  would  not 
be  the  pensioner  of  dulness. 

"  With  sincere  regards,  I  am  yours,  &c. 

«'  SYLVESTER  JUDD." 

To  another  person  he  writes  :  — 
"  It  is  not  a  collection  of  poems,  but  a  treatment 
31* 


366  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

of  elevated  Christian  topics  in  blank  verse.  It  is 
designed  to  be  full  of  hope  to  mankind ;  it  looks  on 
the  brighter  side  of  nature,  man,  death ;  it  is  reforma 
tory  and  improving  in  its  spirit ;  it  is  (believed  to 
be)  pervaded  with  love  and  good-will. 

"  I  chose  this  way,  rather  than  prose,  because  I 
thought  I  could  better  express  certain  topics,  feel 
ings,  interests,  in  a  poetical  form  than  any  other.  It 
belongs  to  the  times. 

"  It  is  a  book  of  liberal  and  progressive  ideas  ;  it 
is  adapted  to  all  who  wish  well  to  their  country,  the 
church,  or  the  world." 

Again  he  writes  to  the  Rev.  E.  E.  H. :  — 

"AuousTA,  Jan.  11,  1850. 

"  My  dear  E.  E.  H.  —  I  thank  you  for  your  let 
ter,  and  for  all  you  say  and  think  and  feel  about 
*  Philo,'  and  about  any  thing  else,  now  and  ever. 

"  But  to  the  book :  is  the  drift  of  it,  or  of  any 
portions  of  it,  not  sufficiently  obvious  ?  Perhaps  it 
is  not,  and  of  course  I  am  sorry.  What  is  a  lumi 
nous  road  to  me  may  be  a  heap  of  odious  stumbling- 
blocks  to  some  others.  By  dwelling  upon  certain 
sentiments,  ideas,  things,  we  get  far  into  them,  and 
forget  at  what  a  distance  we  have  left  the  world 
behind  us  ;  we  may  even  close  the  entrance  after  us, 
and  the  world  has  no  other  notion  of  our  where 
abouts  than  by  certain  subterranean  hollowings,  the 
precise  place  of  which  it  is  always  difficult  to  iden 
tify.  We  are  innocently  guilty  of  a  species  of  intel 
lectual  ventriloquism. 

"  This  applies  to  the  topic,  scriptural  or  metrical, 
of  the  Advent,  or  a  second  coming  of  Christ.  Thanks 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  367 

possibly  to  Elder  Miller,  my  attention  some  years 
since  was  called  to  this  subject.  I  examined  the 
New  Testament  with  care  and  candor.  This  is 
the  sum  of  my  conclusions,  —  that  Christ  would 
come  into  the  world  again,  that  he  expected  to  come, 
and  promised  to  come.  But  how  ?  In  the  person  of 
his  followers :  in  their  virtues  his  would  be  repro 
duced,  in  their  moral  beauty  his  would  be  pro 
nounced  ;  they  would  walk  in  his  steps,  bear  his 
cross,  die  his  death,  illustrate  his  life,  and  so  per 
sonate  him.  The  coming  of  Christ,  and  his  revelation, 
are  terms  used  interchangeably  by  the  evangelists, 
and  by  the  Saviour  himself.  So  we  read,  1  Cor.  i.  7, 
'  Waiting  for  the  coming  of  our  Lord  "  (m.  r.  revela 
tion,  unoKahvijiiv).  So  our  Lord,  Luke  xvii.  30,  speak 
ing  of  his  coming,  alludes  to  it  as  the  day  when  the 
Son  of  man  shall  be  revealed. 

"This  coming,  revelation,  or  advent,  is  moreover 
a  glorious  event.  e  He  shall  come  with  clouds  and 
great  glory.'  Here  commences  the  Orientalism, 
or,  as  we  should  now  say,  the  poetry,  of  the  thing. 
'  The  trump  shall  sound,'  —  a  poetical  allusion  to 
the  jubilee  fanfares  of  the  Jews.  *  The  dead  shall 
be  raised ;  even  now,'  adds  Christ,  while  he  was 
then  speaking,  'they  shall  come  forth  from  their 
graves  ; '  the  dead  in  sin,  the  carnally  deceased.  The 
theme  is  taken  up  by  Paul,  who  expressly  says, 
'  Christ  is  revealed  in  us  ; '  Peter  energetically  echoes 
the  same  idea,  and  speaks  of  the  new  heaven  and 
new  earth,  wherein  dwelleth  righteousness ;  and  John, 
in  Patmos,  finally  throws  the  whole  into  a  sublime 
poem,  prophecy,  or  what  you  will. 


AS   AN    AUTHOR. 


"  On  this  subject  I  have  preached ;  for  this  coming 
I  have  prayed ;  on  it  I  have  meditated ;  and  now, 
finally,  have  made  it  a  sort  of  thread  on  which  to 
string  some  pages  of  a  book. 

"  Well,  all  this,  this  view  of  Scripture,  this  matter 
of  hermeneutics,  is  familiar  to  you,  and  to  many 
others.  I  cannot  suppose  it  is  familiar  to  everybody. 
How  far  ought  I  to  suppose  it  familiar  to  critics  in 
general  ? 

"  I  did  think  of  appending  an  explanatory  note ; 
but  hoped,  after  all,  that  the  text  of  the  work  would 
explain  itself.  I  do  still  think  a  careful  reading  will 
make  the  thing  plain.  But  ought  we  to  presume  on 
careful  readers  among  the  mass  of  those  to  whom 
Phillips  and  Sampson  may  distribute  copies  ?  I 
know  not  if  there*  be  any  danger  of  mistake ;  I  only 
wish  my  friends,  whoever  they  may  be,  that  shall 
undertake  to  review  the  book,  may  be  set  right.  .  .  . 

"  I  am  so  little  acquainted  with  the  machinery  of 
the  literary  world,  that,  on  matters  of  this  sort,  I 
hardly  know  what  to  say,  or  what  not  to  say. 

"I  do  not  speak  of  uncandid  minds,  if  there  are 
such,  but  of  candid ;  and  should  be  sorry  to  have 
such  stumble,  not  perhaps  at  the  threshold,  but  at 
the  postern,  of  the  book. 

"  *  Margaret '  was  a  Christian  consummation  in  a 
single  neighborhood  ;  *  Philo '  is  the  same  for  the 
land  at  large,  and  the  whole  world.  It  is  a  sort  of 
Christian  estimate  of  the  world ;  its  ultimate  idea  is 
redemption  by  Christ.  It  admits  of  (poetical)  super 
natural  agencies  in  Gabriel,  &c.  It  looks,  from  the 
Christian  or  Christ's  point  of  view,  at  men  and 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  369 

things  in  the  world.  The  fancy  of  '  the  devil '  is 
designed  to  drive  the  theological  devil  from  the 
world  and  from  the  universe.  The  doctrine  of  the 
book  is  that  no  foreign,  infernal,  super-human  agency 
is  allowed  in  the  world.  It  teaches,  moreover,  that 
the  hope  of  the  world  lies  in  itself;  in  its  men  and 
women,  its  wood  and  iron,  and  in  the  blessed  gospel 
of  the  Son  of  God,  which  also  it  has.  It  alludes  to 
the  evils,  and  more  particularly  to  that  culminating 
one,  war.  In  Charles  is  expressed  the  sceptical, 
profane,  dark  side  of  things,  &c.  &c.  It  winds  up 
with  a  poetical  account  of  that  which  I  believe  to  be 
the  consummation  of  the  wish,  purpose,  and  plan  of 
Jesus,  —  the  Advent ;  that  which  Christ  most  lite 
rally,  truthfully,  and  earnestly  conceived ;  which  was 
to  his  eye  the  grandest  of  all  visions,  and  which 
he  —  and  how  could  he  do  otherwise  ?  —  spoke  of 
in  terms  borrowed  from  the  imagination ;  borrowed, 
too,  from  the  imagination  of  the  sacred  books  of  his 
people ;  borrowed  from,  and  belonging  to,  the  imagi 
nation  of  all  times. 

"  Is  this  apparent,  or  is  it  closed  to  the  common 
reader  of  the  book  ? 

"  You  allude  to  the  Arians.  Their  history  ought 
to  be  written.  Materials,  I  know,  are  scant,  and 
difficult  of  access ;  but  such  a  work  would  be  an 
admirable  contribution  to  our  theological  literature, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  claims  which  the  abused,  worthy 
dead  have  on  the  justice  of  the  living.  Wont  you 
bestir  yourself  in  this  behalf? 

"  Yours,  very  truly." 

And,  with  reference  to  the  criticisms  passed  upon 


370  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

it,  he  says,  in  a  letter  to  a  brother:  "While  the 
book  has  been  gladly  welcomed  in  some  quarters,  it 
has  been  shamefully  abused  in  others.  It  has  been 
trivially  looked  at,  and  trivially  noticed.  It  has 
been  treated  as  a  joke,  while  really  it  is  one  of  the 
most  serious  works  ever  written.  Think  of  what 
the  '  Literary  World  '  charged  upon  *  Philo,'  —  '  an 
undisguised  infidelity ' !  Compare  that  with  the 
language  of  our  sainted  brother,  *  that  it  was  full  of 
Jesus.'  Are  there  no  minds,  are  there  not  many 
minds,  to  whom  it  might  come  as  a  book  'full  of 
Jesus'?" 

"  RICHARD    EDNEY." 

"  Richard  Edney  and  the  Governor's  Family  "  was 
written  mostly  in  the  interval  between  the  finishing 
of  "  Philo  "  and  its  publication.  A  stereotype  edi 
tion  of  it,  in  one  volume,  was  published  by  Phillips 
and  Sampson,  the  last  part  of  the  same  year  in  which 
"  Philo  "  was  issued,  1850.  This  work  underwent 
the  same  general  course  of  remark  as  the  two  pre 
vious  ones ;  some  giving  it  a  higher  place  than 
"  Margaret,"  others  regarding  it  as  falling  below  that 
in  merit. 

In  its  general  scope  and  design,  this  work  is  kin 
dred  with  the  other  two,  and  animated  by  the  same 
kindling  spirit  of  love  for  humanity  and  desires  for 
its  elevation.  It  differs  from  "  Margaret,"  in  repre 
senting  our  own  times.  A  prominent  aim  is  to  show 
that  a  man  is  what  he  makes  himself;  and  that  he 
can,  by  his  own  inherent  energies,  make  himself  what 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  371 

he  chooses.  Its  bearing  is  to  elevate  the  working 
classes ;  to  bring  together,  in  kindly  intercourse  and 
the  interchange  of  good  offices,  the  rich  and  the  poor  ; 
and  to  confer  on  human  labor  the  honor  and  dignity 
which  is  its  due. 

Another  idea,  which  entered  largely  into  the  con 
struction  of  the  work,  was  to  "catch  the  manners 
living  as  they  rise ; "  or  rather,  instead  of  creating 
characters  and  scenes  purely  ideal,  to  take  them 
ready  formed  at  his  hand,  as  he  found  them  in  daily 
life,  in  social  intercourse,  in  his  walks  about  town, 
in  his  rural  excursions.  At  the  time  of  writing  this, 
his  mind  dwelt  much  on  the  fitness  of  thus  drawing 
from  the  actual  and  real.  Augusta,  the  bridge  across 
the  Kennebec,  its  dam,  its  factories,  its  freshets,  were 
laid  largely  under  contribution  in  the  composition  of 
the  work,  although  any  one  would  do  wrong  to  sup 
pose  that  "  Woodylyn  "  was  intended  as  a  represen 
tation  of  that  town,  or,  on  the  whole,  answered  to  it. 
So,  also,  individual  families  and  persons  formed  the 
basis  of  many  delineations,  though  of  no  one  could 
it  be  said  that  he  sat  for  the  picture.  Still  there  are 
hints  enough  of  local  bearing  and  interest  to  give 
a  peculiar  zest  to  those  who  are  in  the  secret  and 
acquainted  with  the  place.  The  truth  to  nature  of 
the  description  of  the  snow-storm  with  which  the 
book  is  ushered  in,  and  the  graphic  portraiture  of 
the  Stage-driver,  have  universally  found  admirers. 
The  children  Memmy  and  Bebby  have  secured 
friends  among  all  the  lovers  of  juveniles.  The 
"  hard  parting  "  of  friends  has  received  a  sigh  from 
every  mourner's  breast ;  to  the  "  Athanatopsis  "  has 


372  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

been  sent  back  a  heavily  tolling  knell  from  the  deep 
recesses  of  the  suffering  heart. 

The  last  chapter,  entitled  "  Parting  "Words,"  giv 
ing  quite  an  insight  into  the  genial  humor  and  bene 
volent  spirit  of  the  book,  as  well  as  an  intimation 
of  the  objects  of  all  the  author's  works,  and  his 
explanation  of  himself  in  them,  shall  have  some 
place  here. 

"  To  those  authors,"  he  says,  "  from  whom,  in  the 
composition  of  this  tale,  we  have  borrowed,  we  re 
turn  sincere  thanks.  If  our  publishers,  who  are 
obliging  gentlemen,  consent,  we  would  like  to  for 
ward  a  copy  of  the  book  to  each  of  them.  If  they 
dislike  any  thing  of  theirs  in  this  connection,  they 
will  of  course  withdraw  it;  should  they  chance  to 
like  any  thing  of  ours,  they  have  full  permission 
to  use  it.  This  would  seem  to  be  fair. 

"  Pope  Gregory  VII.  burned  the  works  of  Varro, 
from  whom  Augustine  had  largely  drawn,  that  the 
saint  might  not  be  accused  of  plagiarism.  We  have 
no  such  extreme  intention.  First;  it  would  be  an 
endless  task.  What  consternation  in  the  literary 
world,  should  even  the  humblest  author  undertake 
such  a  thing !  And  such  authors  are  the  ones  who 
would  be  most  inclined  to  cancel  their  obligations  in 
this  way.  We  might  fire  the  Cambridge  Library ; 
but,  alas  !  the  assistant  librarian,  whose  pleasant  face 
has  beguiled  for  us  so  much  weary  research  in  those 
alcoves,  and,  as  it  were,  illuminated  the  black  letter 
of  so  many  recondite  volumes,  —  to  see  him  shed 
ding  tears  over  their  ashes  would  undo  us  !  We  are 
weak  there.  Secondly,  it  comports  at  once  with 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  373 

manliness  and  humility  to  confess  one's  indebted 
ness.  Thirdly,  as  a  matter  of  expediency,  it  is  bet 
ter  to  avail  one's  self  of  a  favorable  wind  and  general 
convoy  to  fame,  than  run  the  risk  of  being  becalmed, 
and  perhaps  devoured,  on  some  private  and  unknown 
route.  But,  lastly  and  chiefly,  let  it  be  recorded, 
there  is  a  social  feeling  among  authors,  —  they  cher 
ish  convivial  sentiments,  —  they  are  never  envious 
of  a  fellow  ;  there  is  not  probably  a  great  author  liv 
ing  but  that,  like  a  certain  great  king,  would  gladly 
throw  a  chicken  or  a  chicken's  wing  from  his 
feathered  abundance  to  any  poor  author,  and  enjoy 
its  effect  in  lighting  up  the  countenances  of  the  poor 
fellow's  wife  and  children.  Wherefore  is  it  that 
plagiarism,  after  all,  is  to  be  considered  rather  in  the 
light  of  good  cheer  and  kindly  intercourse,  than  as 
evidence  of  meanness  of  disposition,  or  paucity  of 
ideas.  To  the  tourist,  who,  with  guide-book  in 
hand,  and  curious  pains-taking,  seeks  to  recover 
scenes  and  places,  fleetingly  commemorated  in  these 
pages,  we  are  obliged  to  say,  he  will  be  disappointed. 
This  tale,  in  the  language  of  art,  is  a  composition, 
not  a  sketch.  There  is  no  such,  city  as  Woody lin  ; 
or,  more  truly,  we  might  affirm,  the  materials  of  it 
exist  throughout  the  country.  Its  population  and  its 
pursuits  are  confined  to  no  single  locality,  but  are 
scattered  everywhere.  Its  elements  of  good,  hope, 
progress,  may  be  developed  everywhere.  Would, 
too,  that  whatever  it  contains  prejudicial  to  human 
weal  might  be  depressed  in  all  regions  of  the 
earth ! 

"To  the  book  itself  — 

32 


374  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

'  VADK,    LIBER,' 
(GO,   LITTLE   BOOK,) 

'  Quails,  non  ausim  dicere,  fclix.' 
(What  will  be  your  fortune,  I  cannot  tell.) 

'  Vade  tamen  quocunque  lubet,  quascunque  per  oras, 
I  blandas  inter  charites,  mystamque  saluta 
Musarum  quemvis,  si  tibi  lector  erit. 
Kura  colas,  urbemque.' 

(Yet  go  wherever  you  like,  —  go  everywhere,  —  go  among  kind  people; 
you  may  even  venture  to  introduce  yourself  to  the  severer  sort,  if  they 
will  admit  you.  Visit  the  city  and  the  country.) 

'  Si  criticus  lector,  tumidus  censorque  molestus, 
Zoilus  et  Momus,  si  rabiosa  cohors,'  —  approach, 

«  Fac  fugias,'  — fly. 

'  LJV  to  omnes  accipe  vultu, 
Quos,  quas,  vel  quales,  inde  vel  unde  viros.' 

(Look  cheerfully  upon  all,  men  and  women,  and  all  of  every  condition.) 

"  Go  into  farm-houses  and  rustic  workshops  ;  call 
at  the  homes  of  the  opulent  and  the  powerful ;  visit 
schools ;  say  to  the  minister  you  have  a  word  for 
the  church.  I  know  you  will  love  the  family :  you 
may  stay  in  the  kitchen ;  and,  as  you  are  so  neatly 
dressed,  and  behave  so  prettily,  they  will  let  you 
sit  in  the  parlor.  Let  the  hard  hand  of  the  laboring 
classes  hold  you ;  nor  need  you  shrink  from  the  soft 
hand  of  fair  maiden.  Speak  pleasantly  to  the  little 
children ;  —  I  need  not  fear  on  that  score ;  —  speak 
wisely  and  respectfully  to  parents ;  you  may  enter 
the  haunts  of  iniquity,  and  preach  repentance  there  ; 
you  may  show  your  cheerful  face  in  sordid  abodes, 
and  inspire  a  love  for  piety  and  blessedness.  Go 
West  —  go  South :  you  need  not  fear  to  utter  a  true 
word  anywhere.  Especially,  and  these  are  your  pri 
vate  instructions,  speak  to  our  young  men,  and  tell 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  375 

them  not  to  be  so  anxious  to  exchange  the  sure 
results  of  labor  for  the  shifting  promise  of  calcula 
tion  ;  tell  them  that  the  hoe  is  better  than  the  yard 
stick.  Instruct  them  that  the  farmer's  frock  and  the 
mechanic's  apron  are  as  honorable  as  the  merchant's 
clerk's  paletot,  or  the  student's  cap.  Show  them 
how  to  rise  in  their  calling,  not  out  of  it ;  and  that 
intelligence,  industry,  and  virtue  are  the  only  decent 
way  to  honor  and  emolument.  Help  them  to  bear 
sorrow,  disappointment,  and  trial,  which  are  wont  to 
be  the  lot  of  humanity.  And,  more  especially, 
demonstrate  to  them,  and  to  all,  how  they  may  BE 

GOOD    AND    DO    GOOD. 

"  Should  inquiries  arise  touching  your  parentage 
and  connections,  —  a  natural  and  laudable  curiosity, 
which,  as  a  stranger  in  the  world,  you  will  be  expected 
to  enlighten,  —  you  may  say  that  you  are  one  of 
three,  believed  to  be  a  worthy  family,  comprising  two 
brothers  and  one  sister ;  that,  a  few  years  since,  your 
author  published  the  history  of  a  young  woman, 
entitled  t  Margaret,  a  Tale  of  the  Real  and  the 
Ideal ; '  and  that  at  the  same  time,  and  as  a  sort  of 
counterpart  and  sequel  to  this,  he  embraced  the 
design  of  writing  the  history  of  a  young  man,  and 
you  are  the  result.  The  first  shows  what,  in  given 
circumstances,  a  woman  can  do ;  the  last  indicates 
what  may  be  expected  of  a  man :  the  first  is  more 
antique  ;  the  last,  modern.  Both  are  local  in  action, 
but  diffusive  in  spirit.  In  the  meantime,  he  has 
written  *  Philo,  an  Evangeliad  ; '  cosmopolitan,  oecu 
menical,  sempiternal,  in  its  scope ;  embodying  ideas 
rather  than  facts,  and  uniting  times  and  places  ;  and 


376  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

cast  in  the  only  form  in  which  such  subjects  could 
be  disposed  of,  —  the  allegoric  and  symbolical ;  or, 
as  it  is  sometimes  termed,  the  poetic.  The  two  first 
are  individual  workers ;  the  last  is  a  representative 
life.  ( Philo  '  is  as  an  angel  of  the  everlasting  gos 
pel  ;  you  and  *  Margaret,'  one  in  the  shop,  and  the 
other  on  the  farm,  are  practical  Christians.  However 
different  your  sphere  or  your  manners,  you  may  say 
you  all  originate,  on  the  part  of  your  author,  in  a 
single  desire  to  glorify  God  and  bless  his  fellow-men. 

*  Philo  '   has   been    called   prosy  ;    f  Margaret '  was 
accounted  tedious.      You,  '  Richard,'  I  know,  will 
appear  as  well  as  you  can,  and  be  what  you  are,  — 
honest  certainly,  pleasing  if  possible. 

"God  bless  thee,  little  book,  and  anoint  thee  for 
thy  work,  and  make  thee  a  savor  of  good  to  many ! 
We  shall  meet  again  in  other  years  or  worlds.  May 
we  meet  for  good,  and  not  for  evil !  If  there  is  any 
evil  in  thy  heart  or  thy  ways,  God  purge  it  from 
thee." 

"  THE    WHITE    HILLS,    AN    AMERICAN    TRAGEDY." 

Another  work  of  Mr.  Judd's,  in  unpublished 
manuscript,  is  denominated  "The  White  Hills,  an 
American  Tragedy."  Its  titlepage  bears  date,  Sept. 
8,  1851;  3,  P.M.  Ther.  90°. 

A  "  Note  "  on  the  first  page  reads  thus :  "  This 
Drama  contains  an  allusion  to  the  following  passage, 
which  may  be  found  in  Sullivan's  History  of  Maine  : 

*  The  White  Mountains  have  a  singular  appearance, 
when  viewed  from  a  distance :  their  tops  are  white 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  377 

like  snow.  There  was  an  early  expectation  of  find 
ing  a  gem,  of  immense  size  and  value,  on  this  moun 
tain  :  it  was  conjectured,  and  it  is  yet  believed  by 
some,  that  a  carbuncle  is  suspended  from  a  rock  over 
a  pond  of  water  there.  While  many,  in  the  early 
days  of  the  country's  settlement,  believed  this  re 
port,  each  one  was  afraid  that  his  neighbor  should 
become  the  fortunate  proprietor  of  the  prize,  by 
right  of  prior  possession.  To  prevent  this,  credit 
was  given  to  the  tale  of  the  natives,  that  the  place 
was  guarded  by  an  evil  spirit,  who  troubled  the 
waters,  and  raised  a  dark  mist,  on  the  approach  of 
human  footsteps. 

"  '  There  was  another  tradition,  that  three  hills  of 
rocks  were  situated  up  Saco  River,  about  forty  miles 
from  the  sea,  as  full  of  silver  as  the  mines  of  Peru. 
Fully  persuaded  of  this,  William  Phillips,  of  Saco, 
purchased  these  mountains  of  Captain  Sunday,  a 
Sachem,  in  the  year  1660 ;  but  he  or  his  posterity 
have  never  been  able  to  possess  the  expected  wealth 
from  these  hills.' ' 

The  drama  is  in  five  acts.  It  is  written  mainly  in 
blank  verse,  and  is  allegorical  in  character.  Its  aim, 
like  that  of  his  other  works,  is  chiefly  moral;  its 
object  being  to  mirror  the  consequences  of  a  man's 
devoting  himself  to  an  all-absorbing  love  of  gain,  — 
to  the  supreme  worship  of  Mammon.  The  basis  of 
the  idea  was  suggested  by  the  general  rage  for  Cali 
fornia  gold,  which,  for  a  year  or  two  before  its  com 
mencement,  had  been  so  rife  amongst  almost  all 
classes  of  the  community.  The  Dramatis  Personae 

are  — 

32» 


378  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

NORMAND,  a  Student. 

LEIRION,  the  Betrothed  of  Normand. 

THE  MOTHER  or  NORMAND. 

MAMMON. 

VAFEB,  the  Witch-mother. 

TTJRPIS,  the  Witch-daughter. 

PERNIX,      > 

£  The  Witch-relatives. 
SKLEROTE,  > 

THE  GIANT  OF  THE  HILLS. 

A  CHILD. 

SUNDRY  CASUAL  PERSONS. 

THE  SCENE  —  America.      TIME  —  The  Present  Time. 

In  Normand,  the  principal  character,  is  shown 
how  one  who  makes  money-getting  the  great  object 
of  life  is  led  on,  step  by  step,  to  sacrifice  affection, 
integrity,  conscience  ;  to  barter  soul  and  body  in  the 
pursuit.  He  is  a  young  student,  of  noble  mind  and 
aspiring  aims,  who  suffers  in  his  soul  a  sense  of  the 
curse  and  sting  of  pinching  poverty.  He  cares  not 
for  wealth  in  itself  considered,  but  for  the  valuable 
gratifications  which  it  brings,  and  the  respect  and 
consideration  which  he  regards  unattainable  without 
it.  He  is  attached,  in  fervent  love,  to  Leirion,  a 
pure  and  heavenly -minded  girl;  but  poverty  will 
not  allow  him  to  endow  her  as  he  feels  she  merits. 
His  boyhood's  years  were  near  to  heaven  in  their 
gentleness  and  love.  On  him  centre  the  earnest 
prayers  of  his  blind  old  mother.  He  wears  a  cross, 
a  dying  gift  of  a  dear  brother.  To  nature's  kind 
and  holy  voice,  his  heart  is  tenderly  attuned.  All 
good  influences  encircle  him  around,  and  sacred 
associations  bind  him  to  the  path  of  duty.  But  this 
is  the  burden  of  his  heart :  — 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  379 

"  Alas !  I'm  poor.     "What  is  it  to 
Be  poor  ?     Is  it  to  lack  bread,  credit,  smiles, 
Attendance  1     To  be  hungry,  cold  ?     'Tis  not 
To  want,  but  not  to  be.     'Tis  that  one's  wants 
Become  one's  being,  and  his  hates  his  masters. 
'Tis  to  feel  mean,  before  some  meaner  clay 
That  one  would  spit  upon.     'Tis  not  to  suffer, 
But  to  be  pitied ;  it  is  not  to  need, 
But  not  to  dare  to  ask.     'Tis  not  that  men 
Neglect  me :  it  is  that  I  shrink  from  them, 
Abjure  the  sun,  and  hide  me  from  the  street, 
And  hesitate  at  gentle  courtesies 
Of  woman.     This  is  to  be  poor.     I  could 
Endure,  defy  perdition,  kiss  despair ; 
But  let  me  be  respected.     With  a  proud 
And  lofty  mind,  I'm  no  man's  peer ;  down,  down, 
Abject,  dependent.     I  am  not  a  slave : 
I  wish  I  were.     I  hate  the  poor :  of  all 
That  God  hath  made,  they  are  the  vilest  thmg." 

While  thus  giving  way  to  these  maddening 
thoughts,  Mammon,  in  the  guise  of  a  modern  gen 
tleman,  enters,  learns  his  trouble,  and  leads  him  to  a 
spot  from  which  the  White  Hills  are  visible  in  the 
distance.  Mammon  waves  a  wand,  and  bids  him  look ; 
and  at  length  gives  him  a  glass,  through  which  he 
sees  the  immense  size  and  radiance  of  the  pearl. 
His  soul  is  fired  with  the  view,  and  he  determines 
to  snatch  the  prize ;  but  he  is  warned  by  Mammon 
of  the  peril  of  attacking  the  guarding  genius,  and 
the  hopelessness  of  attempting  to  do  it  in  the  condi 
tion  in  which  he  then  was.  Mammon,  however, 
directs  him  to  the  witch  Vafer,  who  will  "  rake  the 
peril  from  his  path."  He  also  bids  him  abjure  her 


380  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

he  loves,  and  the  cross  he  bears  about  him ;  and 
Normand,  in  the  wild  excitement  of  the  moment,  is 
ready  to  surrender  every  thing  for  the  gratification 
of  this  one  over-mastering  passion.  He  enters  into 
compact  with  Mammon,  commits  himself  to  the 
clutches  of  the  god  of  riches.  Then  come  the  re 
action,  the  misgivings,  the  loss  of  inward  peace,  the 
remembrance  of  his  innocent  childhood,  of  his  blind 
mother's  prayers,  of  his  beloved  Leirion,  of  his  dead 
brother's  pious  influences;  and  he  is  wretched.  But 
he  is  fairly  entangled :  he  has  consented  that  gold 
shall  be  his  god,  and  he  cannot  escape.  He  is  led 
further  and  further  into  a  mesh  of  sin  and  guilt, 
from  which  he  has  not  power  to  extricate  himself. 

But  ever  and  anon  return  upon  him  tender  me 
mories  of  earlier  days,  and  the  gentle  influences  of 
nature,  from  the  power  of  which  he  cannot  escape, 
and  yet  to  which  he  will  not  yield.  And  thus  goes 
on,  through  his  whole  career,  a  terrible  conflict  with 
his  better  nature;  striking  contrasts  and  struggles 
of  feeling,  with  a  fearful  apprehensive  foreboding  as 
to  the  final  result.  The  several  phases  of  his  state 
furnish  some  most  striking  scenes,  in  which  the 
light  and  shade  are  blended  with  great  effect. 

Vafer,  Turpis,  Pernix,  and  Sklerote,  the  witch- 
family,  are  personifications  of  the  qualities  their 
names  import ;  and  the  chief  thread  of  the  drama  is 
a  succession  of  scenes  formed  in  accomplishing  their 
requirements.  The  interviews  with  the  witches  are 
managed  very  much  after  the  Shaksperian  manner. 
All  weird  elements  are  made  to  bear  their  part  in 
the  charm  Normand  is  to  weave,  by  which  to  palsy 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  381 

the  power  of  the  guardian  of  the  pearl,  and  thus  to 
overcome  him. 

The  accompanying  scenery  is  varied,  rich,  and 
striking,  including  views  of  the  White  Hills,  the 
Notch,  the  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain,  the  Basin,  the 
Flume ;  also  of  Lake  George  with  its  many  islands, 
Saratoga,  a  city  Exchange,  the  humble  cottage  of 
Leirion,  &c.,  &c. 

It  will  not  be  attempted  here  to  go  -into  a  minute 
analysis  of  the  whole  piece,  or  to  do  any  thing  like 
justice  to  its  merits.  As  has  been  shown,  the  scenes 
are  laid  in  spots  familiar  and  endeared  to  the  travel 
ler  for  pleasure ;  and,  in  the  preparation  of  the  work, 
Mr.  Judd  made  successive  journeys  to  the  White 
Hills,  and  also  visited  in  person  the  seat  of  other 
scenes,  and  hence  he  was  able  to  give  to  his  represen 
tations  a  remarkable  freshness  and  truth  of  coloring. 

Specimens  of  the  work  will  be  given,  in  random 
extracts,  here  and  there.  The  first  which  follows  is 
from  Normand's  strugglings  with  himself  in  sight 
of  the  hills,  the  day  after  entering  into  compact  with 
Mammon  :  — 

"  Was  it  some  spiritual  trance,  a  scene  evoked 
In  fever's  fitful  change,  or  history 
Of  natural  things  ?     Bright  to  the  uttermost, 
It  weighs  on  me  like  gloomy  death,  or  sigh 
Disastrous,  'splendent  death,  auroral  grave, 
Down  which,  with  all  my  better  life,  I  plunged. 
Reflection,  like  a  tempest,  sweeps  my  heart 
Of  every  trace  of  pleasure  ;  sadness  reigns. 
The  hills,  in  their  calm  fires,  —  they  mock 
Me  not.     The  suraptuousness  of  rest  is  theirs, 
As  holy  sabbath-time,  white  as  a  bride. 


382  AS   AN    AUTHOR. 

Behind  me,  Mammon  ;  'neath,  above,  around, 
Is  God,  my  better  self,  my  childhood  dreams, 
And  ah  !  my  Leirion.     Which  most  inclines  ? 
What  am  I  ?     Changed  from  what  I  was,  or  such 
Self-questioning  had  never  passed  these  lips. 
Conscience  is  dead,  stone  dead ;  the  bent  and  aim 
I  cherished  of  a  higher  good  in  life, 
More  consonant  with  virtue,  of  deserved 
Renown,  and  benefit  to  human  kind, 
If  living,  burns  like  a  forgotten  lamp.     I  dare 
Not  think  of  what  I  was,  I  am  so  changed.  — 
Normand  !  a  voice  calls  Normand.    Normand  is 
Not  here.    If  I  look  like  myself,  it  is 
As  frozen  pippins  that  keep  up  the  blush 
And  general  transcript  of  a  life  that's  fled. 

The  hills  gleam,  blazing  to  their  crystal  core. 
The  pale  pearl  like  a  globed  rainbow  burns ; 
And  my  ambition  takes  a  gayer  hue. 
Ambition  ?     'Tis  revenge  and  trick 
Heroic  on  the  temper  of  the  times, 
That  makes  of  gold  a  god,  and  penury 
A  crime.     I  will  be  rich  :  I'll  have  estates, 
A  seal,  blood,  quality,  and  living ; 
Some  right  of  way  along  this  crowded  world  ; 
The  smiles  of  art,  and  thanks  of  charity. 
Had  I  the  means,  I'd  do  extensive  good 
As  any  man.     I'll  rise,  and  so  un-god 
The  age,  and  purge  this  odium  from  man. 

Abjure  the  cross  !     The  latchet  of  my  dress  — 
A  little  thing,  my  brother  gave  it  me, 
A  parting  gift,  and,  with  his  parting  breath, 
Hoped  I  would  wear  it  for  his  sake,  not  its. 
One  hung  on  it,  and  bore  our  sins.     He  chid 
Temptation,  and,  when  Mammon  tendered  him 
The  pearl,  refused  it.     Empire, .glory,  all 


A3    AN    AUTHOR.  383 

The  world  can  offer,  more  than  it  contains, 

Were  not  a  flexure  in  his  even  course 

Of  holiness  and  truth.     The  cross  this  saith, 

And  more  than  speech,  the  rhetoric  of  form 

Uttering  a  world  of  things  in  two  straight  lines. 

I  must  away  with  it,  as  erst  they  did 

With  him.     Why  hesitate  ?     It  doth  denote 

What  I  have  thought  about,  and  sometimes  loved. 

Is  that  of  consequence  ?    What  sediment 

Of  pain  is  at  the  bottom  of  my  nature, 

And  makes  me  all  a  turbid  deep  of  woe  ? 

I'll  none  of  it.    Up;  covetous  design, 

And  dash  to  earth  the  cross  ! " 

He  seeks  a  parting  interview  with  Leirion.  The 
spot  is  a  cottage,  embowered  in  woodbine  and  shrub 
bery.  In  a  room,  with  open  windows,  set  with 
books,  a  harpsichord,  ornaments  of  rustic  art,  and 
furniture  of  simple  use,  Leirion  is  seen  embroidering 
a  cross.  Normand,  undiscovered,  looks  in  at  the 
window,  and  retires. 

NORMAND. 

I  cannot  enter.     Nook  of  paradise, 

With  a  bright  angel  in  it !    It  is  no  place 

For  me.    I'm  lost,  not  callous  or  malign  ; 

And  contrast  makes  me  lonely,  dreadfully 

Alone.     Back  of  the  cottage  is  the  sky, 

And  back  of  this  is  heaven.    And  she's  in  heaven, 

Whose  awful  azure  glories  her  with  heart 

Of  maiden  innocence  and  holy  peace  ; 

While  I  retreat  to  what  I  am,  to  gaze 

Across  a  pathless  gulf  on  what  I  was. 

Leirion,  perceiving  Normand,  calls  to  him,  and 
he  goes  into  the  house. 


384  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

LEIRION. 
Art  thou  well  ?     Sit  here ;  let  me  see  thine  eye. 

NORMAND,  pacing  the  room. 
I  love  to  try  the  air  as  swallows  do, 
Where  thou  hast  breathed. 

LEIKION. 

Does  thy  head  ache  of  work, 
Or  brain  of  thought,  or  heart  of  any  thing  ? 

NORMAND. 

I  wish  I  were  a  bird,  and  I  would  sing 
To  thee  ;  a  brook,  and  I  would  babble  thee  ; 
A  woman,  I  would  be  thee ;  or  a  man, 
And  I  would  wed  thee. 

LEIRION. 

Thou  art  a  man. 
NORMAND. 

A  poor  one. 
LEIRION. 

That  is  a  circumstance  quite  out  of  time  ; 
I  would  not  touch  it ;  I'll  sing  thee  a  song. 

NORMAND,  earnestly. 
Tell  me,  why  do  you  love  me,  Leirion  ? 

LEIRION,  smiling. 

Because  'tis  natural  to  love.     For  love 
Of  thee,  I  love  thee. 

NORMAND. 

Has't  no  obvious  ground 
Of  prudence  or  reserve,  or  some  delight 
Of  private  feeling  ? 

LEIRION. 

To  tell  thee  what  thou  knowest,  — 
That  thou  wert  good  and  true,  and  aimed  at  greatness ; 
And  more,  thou  wouldst  ennoble  all  thy  means  ; 
True  honor  decked  the  spring-time  of  thy  deeds  ; 
Thou  sparkledst  in  sincerity  as  dew ; 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  385 

Like  youth  of  Athens,  who  with  torches  ran, 
So  thou,  nor  wouldst  in  darkness  win  the  race. 
Does  that  content  thee  ? 

NORMAND. 

Ay,  well,  very  well. 
LEIRION. 

But  something  frets  content,  and  as  a  moth 
About  the  lustre  of  thy  gladness  plays. 
Thy  eye  is  seared  as  there  were  drought  upon't, 
Thy  look  not  cheerful  as  it  used  to  be ; 
Abstraction  seals  thy  lips,  like  funeral-time, 
Or  fearfulness,  or  what  they  say  is  sin. 
Thy  hand  is  cold ;  so  cold,  I  should  be  sad 
Enough,  save  that  thy  heart  is  warm.     Do  not 
Withdraw  it ;  it  will  freeze  away  from  me. 

NORMAND. 

And  with  thee  burn,  burn  a  consuming  fire. 

LEIRION. 
Fond,  foolish  twattler ! 

NORMAND. 

'Twill  be  poor  to  thee, — 
Poor  as  ingratitude,  despite,  and  scorn. 

LEIRION. 
We  will  be  poor  together. 

NORMAND. 

'Twill  be  accursed. 
LEIRION. 
I  could  bear  want  or  any  thing  with  thee. 

NORMAND. 

And  I  with  thee  and  for  thee  ;  to  thee  I'll 
Not  bring  the  bitter  load. 

LEIRION. 

We  shall  be  free 

With  moderate  desires,  rich  from  content, 
And  passing  happy  in  each  other's  love. 
33 


386  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

NORM  AND. 

Whence  fertile  ease,  illustrious  action  whence, 
The  charms  of  culture,  or  e'en  nature's  joys  ? 

LEIRION. 
From  our  good  souls,  love,  worth  a  mint  a  year. 

NORMAND,  looking  from  the  window,  agitated. 
The  hills,  —  e'en  here  they  lift  to  view,  and  force 
This  traitorous  passion  into  dread  relief. 
Soft  you,  my  love.     Hast  note  of  distant  wealth  ? 

LEIRION. 
Too  far  for  empire,  and  too  vain  for  thought. 

NORMAND. 

A  gem-capped  mountain,  Alpine  opulence. 

LEIRION. 

I've  seen  the  milkmaids  whisper  of  the  tale  ; 
And  every  one  did  seem  to  tread  on  graves. 
An  evil  spirit  hath  possession  there  ! 

NORMAND. 

Let  not  thy  fears  so  on  thy  knowledge  tread, 
And  I  will  body  out  the  simple  facts. 

LEIRION. 
And  evils  every  way  encompass  it ! 

NORMAND. 
It  can  be  compassed  by  this  single  arm. 

LEIRION. 
Which  must  endue  itself  in  sorcery ! 

NORMAND. 
We  need  it. 

LEIRION. 

Here's  a  pretty  pattern  wrought 
With  my  poor  cunning.  '[Shows  the  cross.] 

NORMAND. 
That  alarum  here ! 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  387 

LEIRION. 

Thou  usedst  to  peruse  the  sacred  page  ; 
Let  this  thy  progress  tally  and  thy  life  ; 
At  turn  of  every  day,  make  it  a  Mentor. 
If  e'er  temptation  seize  thy  inward  thought, 
Or  thy  uprightness  bend  before  the  stress 
Of  ills  that  try  us  all,  this  thy  support. 
Where  is  thy  brother's  gift  ?     Thou  didst  forget 
To  wear  it.     Or  if,  by  accident, 
'Tis  lost,  keep  this  in  memory  of  that. 

NORMAND. 

I  must  away. 

LEIRION,  aside, 

Ah  !  deeper  than  I  deemed 
Is  his  distress.     His  natural  faculty 
Is  hurt,  and  nerves  distraught. 

NORMAND,  aside. 

Ne'er  of  myself 
Be  I  the  master,  if  not  now. 

LEIRION. 
My  Normand  !      [holding  the  cross  to  him.'] 

NORMAND. 

No  more  of  that.     Kiss  me,  my  Leirion  ; 
And  fare  thee  well ! 

LEIRION. 

Going,  and  so  ?     No  more 
My  Normand  ?     Nor  can  I  add  a  fare-thee-well ! 

NORMAND. 
Take  heart. 

LEIRION. 

This  heart  bursts  on  the  cross  it  made. 
NORMAND,  turning  back  as  he  goes. 
Dearest,  I  will  return  with  goodly  spoil, 
To  deck  reunion,  and  to  crown  our  love. 


388  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

LEIBION. 
This  slight  is  fatal  both  to  him  and  me. 

NOBMAND. 

One  gentle  look  ! 

LEIRION. 
I  ne'er  shall  see  him  more. 

NORMAND. 
Wilt  pray  for  me  ? 

LEIRION. 
He  does  a  prayerless  thing. 

NOBMAND. 

O  heavenly  Leirion  ! 

LEIBION. 
Ah,  lost,  lost  Normand  ! 

At  midnight,  in  a  lonely  place  of  rock,  wood,  and 
water,  Normand,  awaiting  the  appearance  of  the 
witch-mother,  Vafer,  thus  speaks  :  — 

Stars,  glittering  sentinels  of  sleeping  space  ; 

Thou  moon,  whose  silver  lustre  blesses  earth  ; 

Ye  deep  and  vaulted  mysteries  of  nature, 

In  hill  or  glade,  that  keep  your  hoarded  wealth  ; 

Silence,  that  hushes  up  the  universe,  — 

Ye  are  but  parts  of  what  I  am,  or  types 

Of  what  I  shall  be.     Life  and  hope  exalt 

My  venturous  step,  and  crown  the  lonesome  hour. 

Ah,  Leirion,  too  timid,  too  precise, 

Almost  unjust,  so  exquisitely  pure  ! 

Thou  wouldst  forgive  and  sympathize  in  this, 

And  let  these  joys  thrill  thy  severer  heart. 

The  vapors  rise  amain,  and  veil  —  ah  !  yes, 

Diffusive  lustre  —  veil  in  brilliancy 

The  dubious  moon.     So  I,  in  shadows  merged, 

Shall  pour  on  them  my  light,  and  through  them  shine. 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  389 

The  fogs  increase,  and  darkness  shuts  me  in ; 
Yon  moon  declines  ;  the  sorcerer's  moment  comes. 
This  humid  lowland  air  is  chilly.     On  ! 
Good  courage  !  girt  in  genial  hope,  go  on. 

An  unseen  nook  breathes  sassafras  and  mint, 
And  scent  of  fern  ;  and  here  are  phosphor-sticks, 
Gleaming  like  fiery  reptiles  in  my  path. 
I  used,  a  boy,  to  gather  them,  and  loved 
The  woods,  and  tangled  crevices,  and  dark 
And  wizard  ravines,  when  others  feared. 
I'll  not  fear  now.     Toss  a  pebble  down  this  chasm  ; 
See  if  'twill  waken  her,  and  haste  my  hour. 

The  witch-mother,  Vafer,  rises  from  the  rocks, 
with  hair  of  bramble-roots,  and  vesture  of  skins  of 
earth-worms  ;  in  her  hand  a  piece  of  punk  on  fire. 

Hail,  powers  of  earth  !     Hail,  mother  of  all  craft ! 

VAFEB. 

No  time  for  ceremony ;  let  us  work. 
The  pearl  thy  aim  ?  the  giant  and  the  lake 
Thy  dread  ?     Dost  seek  our  aid  ?     Wilt  do  as  bid  ? 
Thou  art  a  ready,  docile  fellow,  meet 
For  fortune,  fame,  and  all  conceptive  good. 

NOBMAND. 

Most  gracious  and  potential  minister  ! 

VAFEK. 
First,  thou  must  get  thy  mother's  blessing. 

NOKMAND. 

My  mother  ? 

VAFER. 
Thy  mother. 
NOKMAND. 

Her  pure  and  pious  hand  would  light  a  curse 
On  what  I  do. 

33* 


390  AT    AN    AUTHOR. 

VAPER. 

Her  blessing.     Dost  thou  hear  ? 
What  she,  but  most  uncertain  dam  ? 

NORMAND. 

Enough ; 
I'll  kill  thee,  witch. 

VAFEB. 

Of  that  most  dubious  thing,  y 
Called  Normand,  littered  chance,  another  form 
That  might  have  taken,  and  been  surnamed  a  dunce. 
Her  blessing  get,  as  thou  wert  bastarded ; 
A  miser's  curse,  and  put  them  in  a  bag ; 
A  cat,  wherein  a  dead  man's  soul  inhabits  ; 
A  cricket  from  the  hearth  of  a  burnt  house, 
•In  whose  deserted  chimney  thou  shalt  sit 
The  night ;  where,  o'er  a  bright  and  verdant  brook, 
A  roofless  saw-mill,  struck  by  ruin,  hangs, 
Some  dust ;  feed  cat  and  cricket  with  the  dust ; 
In  feted  beer-shop  get  a  drunkard's  penny ; 
From  some  good  smith  one  beaded  drop  of  sweat ; 
A  sprig  of  sorrel  from  thy  brother's  grave. 
Our  art  is  chemical :  from  wondrous  sorts, 
And  test  of  stubborn  things,  the  charm  is  wrought. 

A  wise  word  get 

From  the  old  mountain-man  ;  the  flume  shall  yield 
A  bubble,  and  the  basin's  sparkling  bed 
An  emerald ;  a  rainbow  fetch  that  spans 
The  silver  cascade  ;  bring  from  Echo  Pond 
One  cheering  note  ;  on  Kearsage's  breezy  top 
A  willow  basket  weave,  and  put  therein 
Seven  crow-berries. 

NORMAND. 

This  spurs  attempt, 
And  lures  my  spirit  on. 


A3    AN    AUTHOR.  391 

« 

VAPEB. 

Thou  dost  perchance 
On  doting  maiden  dotingly  incline,  — 
A  common  thing,  and,  in  its  way,  quite  well. 

NOEMAND. 

Too  well  to  be  discussed  at  this  late  hour. 

VAFEE. 

As  Hagar  to  that  ancient  saint,  be  she 
To  thee ! 

NOEMAND. 

Thou  askest  what,  if  given,  were  more 
Ten  thousand  times  than  thou  canst  recompense. 

VAPEE. 

Our  Turpis  cheerless  waits  the  happy  hour 
To  wed  with  thee.     Pernix  and  Sklerote, 
Our  cousins  twain,  will  groom  the  festive  scene. 

NOEMAND. 
Is  there  no  second  thought  ? 

VAPEE. 

A  dozen,  so 

You  will.     Let  them  not  loiter. 
NOEMAND. 

To  thy  wish, 
Mother,  and  prudent  counsel,  I'm  beholden. 

The  scene  with  his  poor,  blind,  old  mother,  whom 
he  finds  in  her  lowly  farm-house  knitting  for  him, 
as  he  goes  to  seek  her  blessing,  and  also  that  in 
which  he  seeks  the  sorrel  on  the  grass-covered  grave 
of  his  dead  brother,  are  full  of  tenderest  pathos, 
mixed  with  keen  remorse.  His  watching  for  the 
cricket  in  darkness,  wind,  and  storm,  in  a  solitary 
place,  amid  the  ashes  on  the  hearth-stone  of  a  burnt 
dwelling,  and  his  musings  as  he  sits,  send  a  shudder 


392  AS   AN    AUTHOR. 

through  one's  frame.  So  on  he  goes,  from  scene  to 
scene,  accomplishing  the  demands  of  the  witch, 
which  are  to  form  the  potent  charm.  Interesting 
dialogues,  on  various  themes,  ensue  between  him 
and  those  with  whom  he  comes  in  contact. 

To  the  Exchange  he  resorts  for  the  miser's  curse. 
There  is  a  gathering  of  merchants  on  the  walk ; 
and  at  the  foot  of  the  columns  that  form  the  front 
of  the  building,  crouched  in  corners,  sit  huckster- 
women.  Normand  surveys  the  scene  from  the  plat 
form  above. 

NORMAND. 

My  dreams  are  here  transactions ; 
My  choicest  fancies  reckon  dividends. 
No  vulgar  sweat,  or  boorish  ruddiness, 
A  richer  paleness  thrones  the  countenance,  — 
The  color  of  old  gold,  of  long-enjoyed 
Inheritance,  and  undisturbed  resource. 
That  man  is  thin  :  a  railroad  has  gone  out 
Of  him.     This,  plump  —  tokay  and  stalled  beef. 
That  snaps  his  fingers,  lightnings  bear  the  hint 
Away.     Here  one  marks  with  his  cane  the  pave, 
New  cities  rise.     Another  folds  his  vacant  arms 
As  only  wealth  knows  how.     How  rich  a  lip  ! 
It  hangs  a  liquid  ruby  on  the  face. 
The  President  this  style  of  men  consults  ; 
Reporters  pet,  and  empire  heeds  their  words. 
What  wives  and  daughters,  ministers  and  grounds, 
What  winter  operas,  what  summer  tours, 
Gleam  in  those  eyes,  and  gladden  all  routine  ! 
I  shall  not  find  the  "  curse  "  in  such  a  spot. 
'Tis  blessings  mart,  and  bourse  of  happiness. 
But  I  am  poor,  and  meaner  than  the  dirt 
The  scavenger  collects  beneath  their  feet. 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  393 

Let  me  go  down,  and  with  the  hucksters  idle. 
I'll  buy  an  apple  ;  dare  as  much  as  that 
Beneath  these  columns,  and  before  these  gods. 
Haply,  the  curse  is  squat  behind  a  stall. 

He  talks  with  a  huckstress,  who,  in  reply  to  a 
remark  of  his,  answers,  — 

The  air  is  well  enough,  if  they  would  allow  a  poor 
woman  to  raise  a  screen  against  the  sun. 

NOBMAND. 
They  are  generous  men. 

THE  HUCKSTEESS. 
To  their  dogs  and  horses. 

NOEMAND. 

How  infatuated  is  poverty ;  how  unjust !  [aside.'}  They 
are  golden  men. 

THE  HUCXSTRESS. 
And  alack  have  no  coppers  for  me. 

He  goes  back,  and  talks  with  one  of  the  men  on 
'Change,  and  finally  obtains  the  "  curse,"  in  conse 
quence  of  asking  of  him  a  penny  which  is  due  the 
poor  woman  for  the  apple  he  just  had. 

A  very  touching  scene  occurs  between  Normand . 
and   the  young,  innocent   boy  of  the   smith,  from 
whom  he  seeks  the  drop  of  sweat,  and  who  happens 
to  bear  his  name,  thus  reviving  tender  reminiscences 
of  his  own  childhood. 

A  cavern  in  a  small,  wooded  island  in  Lake 
George  is  the  abode  of  the  witches,  to  which  he 
resorts.  In  front  of  the  cavern  is  a  portico  of  skele 
tons,  garnished  with  serpents  and  poisonous  skins. 
Within  is  a  fire  of  drift-wood,  tended  by  dwarfs. 


394  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

The  attendants  of  the  witch  family  are  swine,  owls, 
wasps,  bull-beggars,  Simon  Magi,  Pick-thanks,  Mes- 
merizers,  Rappers,  and  other  strange  beings. 

As  the  marriage-ceremony  between  Normand  and 
Turpis  is  about  to  be  performed  by  Simon  Magus,  a 
dimly  luminous  shadow  of  Leirion,  with  the  cross, 
appears,  and  causes  the  witch-party  to  vanish. 

At  Saratoga,  amid  the  noise  of  revelry  in  the 
various  pavilions,  and  promenaders  walking  under 
the  trees,  he  falls  in  with  Narcissa,  a  young  lady  of 
great  wealth,  who,  tired  of  gayety  and  frivolity,  is 
glad  to  hold  earnest  discourse  with  him,  although 
his  poverty-stricken  appearance  makes  him  the  butt 
of  ridicule  with  others. 

At  length,  after  many  adventures,  wedded  to 
Turpis,  and  equipped  with  the  proper  charm,  he 
sets  out  for  the  hills,  strong  in  belief  that  the  prize 
is  just  within  his  grasp.  Overtaken  by  night  in  the 
wilderness,  travel-sore  and  faint,  he  applies  at  a 
solitary  house  for  admittance,  but  is  refused  on 
account  of  his  suspicious  appearance.  A  raven,  the 
metamorphosis  of  Vafer,  alights  on  a  stump  near 
him.  He  pushes  on,  the  raven  flying  before,  and 
finally  perching  on  the  steps  of  a  rustic  church, 
standing  alone  by  the  wayside.  The  church  is 
lighted,  and  appears  to  contain  an  assembly  of  peo 
ple.  He  drives  the  bird  from  the  steps,  and  sits 
thereon  himself.  He  hears  singing  within  :  — 

Return,  my  roving  heart,  return, 

And  chase  these  shadowy  forms  no  more  ; 

Look  out  some  solitude  to  mourn, 
And  ihy  forsaken  God  implore. 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  395 

PREACHER,  within. 
What  if  you  gain  the  world,  and  lose  your  soul,  &c. 

This  is  a  highly  wrought  scene.     Finding  himself, 
as  he  says,  — 

"x 

"  By  ingle  and  by  altar  equal  banned,"  — 

he  rises  hastily  and  departs.     A  procession  of  fairies, 
bearing  a  dead  soul,  crosses  his  path,  chanting,  — 

Follow  we  along, 
Withouten  bell  or  song. 
Who  left  it  thus  to  die  ? 
Who  sinned  so  wofully  ? 
By  the  murmuring  water's  side, 
Where  flowery  voices  glide, 

Bear  it  gently, 

Bury  it  tenderly. 

He  looks  upon  this  as  the  obsequies  of  his  own 
soul. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  fifth,  the  last  act  of  the 
drama,  Norm  and  is  found  at  the  White  Hills.  It  is 
night :  he  is  at  the  Notch,  alone.  He  gazes  upon 
the  towering  heights  which  hem  him  in,  and  thus 
utters  his  emotion  :  — 

Ye  hills  !  ye  dumb  and  rayless  attributes 
And  forms  of  all  of  the  Eterne,  we  know 
Or  feel  of  mystery !  that  crowd,  sublime, 
My  horizon,  and  my  very  vision  blind, 
To  swell  within  me  pathos,  grandeur,  awe ! 
That  lift  and  calm,  subdue  and  aggrandize, 
That  overwhelm,  yet  as  in  silent  rhythm 
The  soul  of  darkness  giving ;  terrible, 


396  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

Still  down  these  cheeks  distilling  sweetest  tears. 

How  still  the  mountains  !  as  if  God  were  all 

In  all ;  whose  calm  and  bright  beneficence, 

Softly  diffused  in  silvern,  silent  moon, 

Doth  so  englory  soul  and  place,  and  shade 

And  height,  as  we  were  in  eternity, 

And  sight  were  bliss,  and  consciousness  a  worship. 

He  falls  in  with,  various  parties  of  pleasure.  Nar- 
cissa  and  her  companions  join  him ;  and  they  go  on 
to  Echo  Lake.  He  meets  a  poor  artist,  who  is 
excited  by  the  grandeur  of  the  scenery,  and  com 
plains  that, — 

These  days,  there  is  so  little  love  of  art, 

That  bread  stands  bailiff  at  the  doors  of  genius. 

A  cannon  is  fired.  They  hear  the  echo,  then 
another.  In  the  boat,  Aonida,  a  favorite  artiste, 
sings :  — 

Wake,  glorious  heart ;  wake  at  our  call ! 

Oaoo,  oaoo ! 

A  merry  band,  in  rapturous  thrall, 
To  joy  in  Grandeur's  silent  home, 
With  lyre  and  song,  afar,  we  come, 

Aha,  aha ! 

Mid  fountains,  mid  the  evergreen, 
In  paths  that  eye  hath  never  seen, 
With  rose-bay  crowned,  and  winds  at  play, 
Oh,  beautiful,  and  maiden  gay,  — 

La  la,  la  la ! 

Scene  II.  finds  Normand  on  the  top  of  Profile 
Rock,  where  sits,  as  — 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  397 

In  a  world 

Of  summer  blue,  serene  as  adamant, 
A  tough  old  man,  who  thinks  much,  and  says  less. 

All  that  he  can  draw  from  him,  by  his  most  ear 
nest  conjurations  to  speak,  are  the  oracular  words,  — 

Patience,  the  sun  will  rise  ; 
Silence,  fate  makes  no  noise  ; 
Courage,  the  world  works  well. 

Scene  III.  is  at  the  Basin,  where,  on  thrusting  his 
arm  into  the  water,  the  Spirit  of  the  Basin  rises, 
talks  with  him,  finally  gives  him  a  chrysoprase,  and 
disappears.  The  artist  approaches,  and  they  again 
discuss  his  art. 

Scene  IV.  At  the  Saco  Notch,  Normand  engages 
a  guide.  They  traverse  the  mountains  together ;  and 
Normand  seeks  from  him  something  of  his  family 
history  in  early  times  among  these  mountains,  and 
of  the  legend  of  the  pearl.  Normand  proposes  he 
should  sell  to  him  the  hills.  The  guide  replies,  — 

In  all  these  haunts 

And  pleasant  things,  yield  me  the  right  of  way, 
I  should  not  mind  who  held  the  fee.     Like  trees, 
We  are  rooted  beings,  growing  to  our  birthplace. 
I've  roamed  these  woods,  and  clambered  every  height, 
The  roe-buck  tamed,  and  wrestled  with  the  lynx ; 
The  lowly  coons,  and  mighty  dome  of  rock, 
That  shrubless,  wintry,  crowns  the  whole,  are  dear. 
There  yet  are  unknown  crypts  and  mystic  caves, 
And  nameless  things  that  never  saw  the  light. 


I  wake  with  cascades  for  my  morning  psalm  ; 
34 


398  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

"My  sleep  is  soothed  with  murmuring  forest-winds  ; 

And  thunder,  terrible  beyond  conceit 

Of  lowland  dwellers,  is  my  Sunday  organ. 

NOKMAND. 

Shade  of  Bach  !  what  effect !     These  ancient  towers, 

And  long-drawn  aisles,  and  tinted  lights,  with  such 

A  pipe  to  roll  cathedral  harmonies  ! 

To  worship  here  some  summer  afternoon, 

With  maidens  holy  in  the  solemn  underwood, 

Their  hands  together  pressed,  and  on  their  hair 

A  glory  from  the  saintly  fountain  streaming, 

And  on  their  silver  cross Go  on,  good  friend  ; 

I  hang  upon  thy  words  as  on  a  brink. 

THE  GUIDE. 

So  I  have  hung  on  fancies  of  my  own. 
I've  known  the  darkness  last  till  afternoon. 
When  all  is  still,  one  sometimes  hears  a  moan 
Running  along  the  ridges  ;  there  are  trees 
That  shriek  like  corporal  suffering.     Lost  men 
Are  wandering,  bodiless,  for  what  we  know, 
In  the  ravines  ;  a  lake,  brimful  in  draught, 
From  yonder  Eagle  Cliff,  discharges,  clear 
And  cool,  and  blue  as  heaven.     What  holds  it  there  ? 
A  heavenly  force  ?     Thou  art  a  scholar,  tell. 
Once,  on  Deception,  not  a  stone's  throw  off, 
And  ne'er  a  cloud,  I  saw  a  circled  rainbow, 
And  in  the  flaming  rim  a  human  face. 

Night  overtakes  them  ;  and,  beneath  the  shelter 
of  a  rock,  they  prepare  to  sleep.  But  Normand 
watches  :  he  cannot  sleep  so  near  the  goal  of  all  his 
wanderings.  The  moon  lights  up  the  summit  of 
the  mountain  ;  and  he  sees  the  giant's  profile,  the 
aspect  of  whose  countenance,  he  says,  a  week  shall 
change. 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  399 

We  next  find  him  traversing  the  woods  ;  and  he 
approaches  an  undiscovered  lake  in  the  sides  of  the 
mountain,  which  he  thus  apostrophizes  :  — 

Sable  and  glassy  wave,  where  swan-fleets  ride, 
The  beryl  goblet  of  the  monarch-bird, 
Where  cougar's  harbor  and  the  bittern  shrieks, 
Untouched  by  sunbeam  and  by  storms  o'erpassed  ! 

0  Mountain  Tarn  !  the  pure  and  amber  glass, 
In  secret  chambers,  dim  and  holy,  where 
Daughter  of  God,  ideal  Beauty,  fits 

And  renovates  immortal  radiance, 

Whenas  she  visits  the  fond  dreams  of  youth,  — 

A  sumptuous  drop  from  nectared  urns  of  heaven,  — 

1  drink  of  it. 

Scene  V.  With  sling  in  hand,  Normand  is  pur 
suing  an  unfrequented  path  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  Glen  House.  He  comes  to  Glen  Ellis  Fall, 
where  the  artist  is  sketching,  to  whom  he  again 
addresses  himself :  — 

Friend,  dash  thy  subject ;  fear  not  to  be  bold  ; 
Let  startled  waters  down  the  canvass  pitch. 

Take  Nature  as  she  is  :  paint  what  you  see,  — 
The  foreground,  and  the  mysterious  source  ; 
Retreating,  vague,  and  dreamy  distances  ; 
The  ever  and  forever ;  and  the  leaf 
Upon  it ;  wonder,  tenderness,  remorse  ;  — 
These  are  eternal. 

THE  ARTIST. 
Did  you  say  remorse  ? 
I  do  not  find  it  in  these  elements. 


400  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

NOKMAND,  pausing. 
He  said  remorse  !  [Looking  at  the  cascade."] 

So,  arrowy,  we  fall, 
In  all  the  bliss  of  being,  rippling  on ; 
And  the  recoil,  with  dark  and  icy  eye, 
And  vengeful -appetence,  doth  prey  upon 
The  fundamental  frame  that  holds  our  life. 

A   thunder-storm   passes   over  ;    lightning   strikes 
the  spot,  and  a  rift  of  rock  tumbles  into  the  abyss. 

NORMAND. 

Paint  it,  oh  !  though  it  crush  the  soul  of  beauty, 
And  unearthed  apparitions  swarm  aghast. 

The  artist  adjusts  himself  to  the  task. 

NORMAND,  walking  slowly  away. 
It  works  !  he  dares  sublimely,  yields  to  fame  ; 
With  me  subscribes  the  golden  covenant ; 
To  me  devotes  his  sum  of  lustihood. 
The  dread  resolve  of  grandeur  stirs  within, 
Nor  medium  flights  shall  tempt  his  vigor  more. 

Here  fell  the  author's  pen :  his  hand  —  was  stilled. 


PROMINENT    CHARACTERISTICS    OF    STYLE. 

In  comments  upon  one  of  Mr.  Judd's  works,  this 
remark  is  found :  "  Our  own  spirit  must  advance, 
we  must  plant  ourselves  on  high  and  holy  ground, 
before  we  can  fully  enter  into  the  application  and 
merits  of  the  book."  An  observation  more  just  and 
sensible,  it  is  believed,  is  not  to  be  found  in  all  the 
criticisms  upon  his  writings.  He  wrote  with  an 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  401 

object  far  beyond  the  price  of  his  volumes.  .  Pecu 
niary  advantage,  though  a  thing  not  to  be  despised 
in  connection  with  his  small  income,  was  a  thing 
that  entered  into  his  calculations  only  as  an  inciden 
tal  accessory.  He  wrote  from  the  love  of  it,  and 
from  the  feeling  that  he  had  within  him  something 
to  say,  which  he  must  utter. 

Neither  was  a  desire  for  fame  a  prompting  motive. 
At  one  time,  when  a  friend  gently  remonstrated  with 
him  against  continuing  a  mode  of  writing  which 
called  forth  so  much  severity  of  criticism,  and  rather 
urged  his  aiming  a  little  more  at  suiting  himself  to 
the  public  taste,  —  "  I  cannot"  said  he.  "  It  is  with 
me  a  sacred  conviction ;  there  is  to  me  a  truthful 
ness  which  I  must  follow  out ;  I  am  willing  to  wait 
for  approval." 

One  leading  feature  of  his  writings,  the  bringing 
together  of  the  high  and  the  low,  —  what  some 
have  deemed  the  sublime  and  the  ridiculous,  — 
grew  out  of  that  sense,  with  which  his  being  was 
permeated,  of  the  unity  of  all  things  with  all,  and  of 
the  oneness  of  all  with  the  Supreme  Unity  from 
which  they  spring.  To  him,  in  this  light,  there 
was  no  great,  no  small ;  the  one  great  Father  acting 
through,  encircling,  vivifying  all.  Humanity,  in 
its  many-sided  elements,  in  its  every  condition,  he 
honored  as  the  creation  of  God  in  his  own  image ; 
degraded,  indeed,  from  its  pristine  purity,  but  still 
bearing  deeply  the  divine  impress,  retaining  much 
of  the  divine  likeness.  In  this  view,  the  workshop 
and  the  farm  were  on  a  level  with  the  drawing-room 
and  the  palace.  "  The  kitchen  and  the  clouds,  the 

34* 


402  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

clouds-  and  the  gutter,"  were  not  to  his  mind  so 
incongruous,  nor  in  his  groupings  did  he  see  such 
grotesqueness  and  irrelevancy,  as  those  of  his  readers 
who  took  a  less  elevated  point  of  view.  His  stand 
seemed,  indeed,  to  be  on  some  serene  mount  of  God, 
far  above  the  mists  and  vapors  which  befog  the  ordi 
nary  mind ;  and  one  from  which,  instead  of  partial, 
detached  parts,  he  could  take  in  the  relations  of  the 
whole  great  system. 

With  "Wordsworth,  he  loved  to  draw  illustrations 
from  the  common  and  familiar,  the  humble  and  un 
pretending.  He  advocated  this  on  principle.  That 
near  at  hand  and  well-known,  he  contended,  if  aptly 
applied,  would  naturally  produce  a  stronger  impres 
sion  than  the  far-oif  and  less  familiar.  He  could  not 
see  why  man  and  nature,  lying  in  the  clear  sunlight 
all  around  us,  should  be  neglected,  and  even  ex 
cluded,  for  what  is  dim  in  the  distance  and  less 
impressive.  The  following  comparisons  based  upon 
this  principle,  probably  no  one  would  object  to : 
Margaret  says  of  Rose,  "  She  has  at  times  a  most 
mysterious  spiritual  look,  like  the  moon  shining 
through  white  window-curtains"  In  "  Philo,"  Char 
lotte  says  to  the  Spirit  of  Love :  — 

"  My  habits,  as  a  pot  of  flowers,  I  set 
In  the  warm  rain  of  thy  correction." 

He  has  been  charged  with  affectation.  But  he 
was  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  whom  this  would 
apply.  It  is  that  from  the  least  shade  of  which  his 
natural  truthfulness  revolted.  What  might  seem 
like  this,  was  really  in  him  perfect  naturalness.  He 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  403 

knew  no  other  modes.  He  could  make  use  of  no 
other.  His  mind,  from  a  child,  always  operated  in 
a  way  peculiar  to  itself.  His  own  thoughts,  com 
parisons,  and  illustrations  were  natural  to  himself, 
when  they  appeared  strange  to  others ;  they  were 
clear  and  connected,  when  to  another  they  might 
seem  obscure  and  abrupt.  There  was  no  attentpt  at 
originality :  it  was  originality  in  him.  When  in  a 
public  lecture  he  caused  a  smile  by  the  remark, 
"Never  did  I  understand  the  great  brooding  heart 
of  Jesus,  till  this  very  summer,  when  I  had  a  hen 
of  my  own,  and  saw  her  gather  her  chickens  under 
her  wings,"  he  did  not  know  he  was  saying  any 
thing  to  affect  the  risibles  of  any  one  :  it  was  a  simple 
utterance  of  a  perfectly  simple  feeling,  quite  natural 
to  his  heart. 

When  asked,  in  regard  to  some  of  his  characters, 
why  he  had  them  do  and  say  so  or  so,  he  would  reply  : 
"  Oh !  well,  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  it,  only 
that  was  their  way,"  in  a  manner  that  really  seemed 
as  though  he  had  to  do  with  existences  out  of  him 
self.  So  in  "  Margaret,"  he  says :  "  Seems,  we  say  ; 
for  the  compiler  of  this  memoir  professes  to  know 
no  more  of  the  matter  than  any  of  its  readers." 

The  use  of  uncommon  words,  which  strikes  one 
in  his  compositions,  arose  not  from  a  desire  to  make 
a  show  of  learning,  nor  from  any  oddity  or  love  of 
a  startling  novelty.  The  habit  sprung  from  princi 
ple.  He  considered  words  as  the  working  instru 
ments  o"f  thought.  He  sought  those  best  fitted  to 
express,  in  the  most  forcible  manner,  the  very  idea. 
He  believed  there  was  great  wealth  in  our  language 


404  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

unappropriated.  He  wished  to  draw  from  the  deep 
wells  of  his  mother-tongue.  He  had  a  strong,  an 
almost  sacred,  sense  of  the  truth  in  words  ;  and  it 
seemed  to  rest  on  him  with  the  force  of  a  moral 
obligation,  to  use  them  in  their  true  sense.  If  he 
discovered  a  word  more  pat  to  his  purpose  than 
any  other,  he  could  not  see  why  he  should  abandon 
it,  because  it  had  been  suffered  by  others  to  fall  into 
disuse. 

Trenck,  in  his  admirable  little  work,  entitled 
"  The  Study  of  Words,"  thus  justifies  the  revival  of 
old  words.  "  One  of  the  most  legitimate  methods 
by  which  a  language  may  increase  in  wealth,"  says 
he,  "  is  through  the  reviving  of  old  words,  such  as 
are  worthy  to  be  revived ;  which  yet,  through  care 
lessness  or  ill-placed  fastidiousness,  or  unacquaint- 
ance  on  the  part  of  a  later  generation  with  the  older 
worthies  of  the  language,  or  some  other  causes,  have 
been  suffered  to  drop." 

In  Mr.  Judd's  lecture  upon  "Language,"  deli 
vered  before  a  number  of  lyceums,  occurs  this  pas 
sage  :  "  Once  no  words  were  vulgar  ;  all  were  com 
mon,  all  divine.  Now,  disagreeable  associations 
belong  to  some  words,  and  we  discard  them  ;  not 
for  any  vice  in  themselves,  but  because,  like  the 
dog  in  the  spelling-book,  they  are  found  in  bad 
company.  Adam  and  Eve  saw  no  vulgarity  in  any 
thing.  The  '  London  Quarterly,'  before  quoted, 
alluding  to  what  are  called  slang  phrases,  adds,  '  Let 
no  dainty  objector  whisper  that  such  words  are  com 
mon,  vulgar,  familiar,  and  cannot  be  poetical.  Daisies 
are  common,  the  sea  is  common,  women  and  chil- 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  405 

dren  are  exceedingly  common ;  and  yet  we  believe 
they  are  allowed  by  the  best  judges  to  be  not 
only  poetical,  but  the  very  stuff  and  matter  of  all 
poetry.' " 

He  was  always  a  close  student  of  words.  It  was 
almost  a  passion  with  him.  His  dictionary,  next  to 
his  Bible,  might  be  said  to  be  his  most  familiar 
acquaintance  among  books. 

An  author  from  whom  Trenck  quotes,  in  his  little 
work  just  alluded  to,  says  :  "  Hardly  any  original 
thoughts,  on  mental  or  moral  subjects,  ever  make 
their  way  among  mankind,  or  assume  their  proper 
importance  in  the  minds  even  of  their  inventors, 
until  aptly-selected  words  or  phrases  have,  as  it 
were,  nailed  them  down,  and  held  them  fast."  A 
similar  sense  had  Mr.  Judd  of  the  most  fitting  use 
of  words. 

He  did  not  feel  bound,  of  necessity,  to  old  forms, 
to  petrified  modes,  to  say  things  just  as  everybody 
else  had  said  them.  In  his  review  of  Jones  Very, 
before  referred  to,  he  says  :  "  Invention,  originality, 
the  life,  the  world,  the  soul,  nature  and  God,  are 
not  yet  exhausted.  Things  have  new  phases.  New 
minds  have  new  thoughts.  All  that  man  hath  been 
is  not  all  that  man  may  be.  Tastes  change,  fashions 
wear  out,  systems  decay,  modes  of  thinking  and 
of  writing  pass  away.  Yet  ever  is  nature  at  work ; 
ever  is  something.  We  look  for  that  something  to 
be,  now  to  be.  Fancy,  imagination,  thought,  exist. 
Why  should  they  not  work,  work  for  themselves,  in 
their  own  way  ?  Nature  is  ever  new.  No  year  is 
just  like  another.  No  spring  is  just  like  the  present. 


406  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

No  elm,  since  the  trees  were  planted  in  Paradise, 
is  just  like  the  one  that  overhangs  my  window. 
No  sun-setting  is  just  like  the  one  we  saw  last 
night." 

.  .  .  .  "  We  have  considered  these  poems  simply  as 
an  illustration  of  the  soul  of  man.  But  it  is  the  soul 
in  one  exercise,  that  of  acting  upon  itself.  The  great 
poem  of  our  day  shall  be  that  which  starts  from  this 
point,  which  receives  here  its  baptism  and  its  inspira 
tion,  and  elevates  the  soul  out  of  itself,  and  brings  it 
into  connection  with  what  is  without,  —  nature,  the 
world,  the  universe.  All  things  that  constitute  pro 
per  subjects  for  poetry  demand  to  be  re-viewed.  They 
must  be  looked  at  with  the  soul.  The  visions  of 
external  things  which  have  so  long  floated  before 
the  eyes  of  poets  are  something  more  than  visions. 
They  are  charged  with  an  unperceived  meaning ; 
they  have  relations  to  the  spirit,  which  the  spirit 
alone  can  comprehend  and  interpret.  We  are  no 
advocates  of  mysticism,  or  'airy  nothings,'  but  are 
assured  there  are  realities  which  the  poetic  mind  has 
yet  to  understand.  There  are  depths  into  which  no 
plumb  has  yet  descended.  There  is  a  fidelity  which 
few  are  willing  to  cultivate.  The  intrinsic  difficul 
ties  of  such  an  undertaking  are  neither  few  nor 
small.  Genius,  and  perhaps  a  genius  of  the  highest 
grade,  is  alone  competent  to  the  task.  One  of  the 
chief  difficulties,  as  we  conceive,  lies  in  the  relation 
of  words  to  ideas.  Our  phraseology  is  already  hack 
neyed.  If  any  one,  warmed  by  a  fresh  impulse,  un 
dertakes  to  write  poetry,  he  insensibly,  and  almost 
ncessarily,  falls  into  the  poetic  diction.  Garments 


AS    AN    AUTHOR.  407 

that  were  worn  by  the  ancients,  and  have  been  handed 
down  from  generation  to  generation,  he  must  fit  on 
to  his  thoughts ;  and  thought  itself  appears  old. 
Who  will  break  from  these  leading-strings  ?  "Who 
can  strike  out  a  new  path  ?  Who  will  give  to  the 
soul  what  it  needs  ? " 

In  support  of  the  same  ideas,  we  quote  again  from 
Trenck.  He  says  :  <(  It  is  not  merely  that  the  old 
and  familiar  will  become  new  in  the  hands  of  the 
poet,  or  man  of  imagination;  that  will  give  the 
stamp  of  allowance,  as  to  him  it  will  be  free  to  do,  to 
words,  should  he  count  them  worthy,  —  to  words 
which  have  hitherto  lived  only  on  the  lips  of  the 
multitude,  or  been  confined  to  some  single  dialect  or 
province  ;  but  he  will  enrich  his  native  tongue  with 
words  unknown  and  non-existent  before,  —  non 
existent,  that  is,  save  in  their  elements."  And  thus 
Mr.  Judd  reasoned  in  regard  to  the  use  of  words  ; 
upon  these  principles  he  practised;  and  from  this 
followed  a  prominent  feature  of  his  style. 

The  question  may  be  asked,  "Was  Mr.  Judd  a 
man  of  genius  ? "  If  it  is  the  office  of  genius  to 
combine  and  reproduce,  as  a  new  creation,  forms  and 
characters  all  its  own,  from  various  elements,  the 
common  property  of  all,  infusing  into  them  life,  and 
an  independent,  individual  existence,  and  that,  too, 
with  the  ease  and  quietness  of  accomplishing  the 
most  common  things  of  every-day  life,  then,  with 
great  significance,  may  this  be  predicated  of  him. 
He  borrowed  from  no  one.  His  ideas  are  his  own, 
except  so  far  as  all  ideas  may,  in  a  sense,  be  con 
sidered  public  property.  He  was  original  in  his 


408  AS    AN    AUTHOR. 

plans,  original  in  his  combinations  and  structures. 
And  there  was  no  labor  apparent  in  the  production 
of  his  literary  works,  no  note  of  bustle  or  prepara 
tion  ;  but,  seemingly,  he  simply  willed  them,  and 
they  came  forth. 


409 


CHAPTER   X. 


AS    A    LECTURER. 


THE  history  of  Mr.  Judd's  life,  already  given,  shows 
the  general  esteem  in  which  he  was  held  as  a  lec 
turer.  Among  his  most  popular  and  most  often 
repeated  lectures  were  "The  Beautiful,"  "The 
Dramatic  Element  in  the  Bible,"  and  "Language." 
This  chapter  will  be  composed  of  passages  taken 
from  his  lectures,  which  will  serve  as  specimens  of 
this  department  of  his  literary  efforts.  The  first 
which  follows  is  from  an  address  delivered  before 
the  Northampton  Lyceum,  in  1838,  entitled  — 

"  CHILDREN." 

"  My  subject  is  one  not  too  often  introduced  into 
the  exercises  of  literary  associations ;  yet  I  can 
think  of  none  more  worthy  to  engage  the  interest 
of  this  hour.  It  is  a  subject  at  all  times  about  us, 
yet  not  noticed,  —  ever  familiar,  yet  ever  forgotten. 
You,  the  members  of  this  lyceum ;  you,  the  adult 
and  the  aged,  have  convened  this  evening  for  pur 
poses  of  intellectual  improvement.  But  where  is 
the  child?  What  is  the  child?  "What  you  have 

35 


410  AS    A    LECTURER. 

been,  the  child  is.  What  you  are,  the  child  shall 
be,  and  even  already  is.  What  you  will  be  in  the 
lapse  of  time,  or  in  the  revolutions  of  eternity,  that 
shall  also  the  child  be.  My  subject  is  '  The  Child.' " 
After  depicting,  in  a  graphic  manner,  the  influ 
ences  for  good  or  ill  that  the  child  is  constantly 
receiving  from  those  about  him,  he  says :  "  I  turn  to 
influences  from  the  child.  The  relation  of  child 
hood  to  age  is  a  topic  deserving  our  attention. 
Association  is  the  term  that  expresses  all  which 
interests  us  here.  It  is  that  which  connects  youth, 
manhood,  and  old  age.  As  our  associations  are 
through  life,  so  will  be  our  happiness  or  our  misery. 
Adam  lived  in  Paradise.  Eve,  heaven-moulded 
and  heavenly-beautiful,  bloomed  at  his  side.  The 
uncursed  earth  expanded  before  him  with  a  luxu 
riance  that  regaled  every  sense.  The  sun  shone  out 
upon  him  in  the  undimmed  effulgence  of  its  new 
creation.  Yet  Adam  had  no  childhood.  No  associa 
tions  of  childhood  came  rushing  upon  his  thoughts, 
and  throwing  their  rapture  of  emotions  over  the 
beautiful  world  he  dwelt  in.  With  Eve,  in  bright- 
eyed  girlhood,  he  had  never  revelled  among  those 
flowers,  or  sauntered  on  Pison's  banks.  No  father 
had  taught  him  how  to  rear  the  vine.  On  no  mother's 
lap  had  he  reclined  his  weary  head.  No  morning 
sun  awakened  a  thought  of  his  youth.  No  voices 
echoed  the  past,  —  no  images  reflected  the  past.  Yet 
we  envy  Adam  his  Paradise.  Childhood  is  every 
good  man's  paradise,  —  a  perpetual  paradise  from 
which  he  shall  never  be  driven,  to  the  entrance  of 
which  no  swords  of  fire  shall  be  interposed.  Man- 


AS    A    LECTURER.  411 

hood  has  its  cares  ;  age,  its  infirmities  ;  youth  blooms 
ever.  Then  he  was  happy,  then  he  ,was  free.  Dark 
days  intervene  between  childhood  and  age ;  but  no 
darkness  is  so  great  that  we  do  not  look  over  to  the 
sun-lighted  spot  of  boyhood.  Ills  accumulate  and 
weigh  down  the  spirits ;  but  no  pressure  is  so  over 
whelming,  that  every  fibre  of  our  hearts  does  not 
thrill  at  the  sounds  of  childhood." 

He  thus  refers  to  the  home  of  his  boyhood : 
"  What  resources  for  coming  years  are  the  children 
of  our  village  now  treasuring  up  ?  This  is  the  prac 
tical  consideration  to  which  I  invite  your  attention. 
Northampton,  of  all  places,  is  one  of  the  most  desi 
rable  for  recollection.  As  your  home,  it  is  the  only 
place  to  which  your  thoughts  can  recur  for  child 
hood's  scenes.  Hither  let  them  come.  Here  let 
them  be  cherished.  It  is  necessary  to  give  our  at 
tention  to  the  objects  in  which  we  would  become 
interested.  President  Dwight  bluntly  charged  a 
young  man  with  whom  he  was  riding  in  the  country, 
to  open  his  eyes.  Not  that  he  was  asleep,  but  that 
he  did  not  see  what  he  ought  to  see.  Hbw  many 
travel  the  whole  journey  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave 
asleep !  Strange  perversion  of  the  powers  within 
us  !  Strange  neglect  of  the  objects  around  us  !  Our 
direction  to  the  child  and  the  youth  is,  —  Open  your 
eyes  !  Pick  up  the  next  pebble  your  feet  trip  upon 
It  is  a  portion  of  granite-rock,  remote  from  any 
granite-formation.  How  came  it  where  you  found 
it  ?  What  force  detached  it  from  its  parent-stone  ? 
It  is  hard,  yet  round  and  smooth.  In  what  beating 
of  waters  did  it  receive  its  abrasions  ?  The  sand 


AS    A    LECTURER. 

you  tread  upon,  the  soil  your  ploughshare  turns,  is 
all  rocks,  fragmentary  rocks,  broken  down  in  un 
known  ages,  when  oceans  swept  over  our  dry  lands, 
and  all  that  the  com  might  grow,  and  the  waters 
run.  That  pebble  is  a  token  of  mysterious  agencies, 
a  tradition  from  past  generations,  a  monument  of  the 
power  and  goodness  of  God. 

"  Our  village  in  its  character  is  rural,  but  the 
ideal  of  rural  life  is  hardly  realized  here.  As  in 
the  Switzer's  home,  no  young  men  and  maidens,  no 
old  men  and  matrons,  collect  on  our  greensward, 
to  join  the  circles  of  the  dance,  to  merry-make  or 
crown  the  queen  of  May.  We  retire  into  our  houses 
from  the  rich  landscapes  around  us,  that  we  may 
look  upon  them  from  our  windows.  We  talk  of 
them  to  the  stranger,  rather  than  enjoy  them  our 
selves.  Yet  the  elements  of  the  beautiful  and  pic 
turesque  are  here.  Rivers  and  rivulets,  hills  and 
hillocks,  slopes  and  levels,  woodland  and  lawn,  elm- 
trees  and  rose-bushes,  are  grouped,  contrasted,  va 
riegated,  in  forms  and  colors  that  captivate  every 
beholder.  But  nature,  inanimate  nature,  is  never 
superlatively  beautiful.  It  is  man,  living  man,  that 
makes  all  God's  works  beautiful.  Here  you  are, 
and  here  is  your  youthful  home !  Here  are  your 
play-grounds,  your  fishing-streams,  and  your  skat- 
ing-ponds  !  A  winter  evening's  party,  with  its  cakes 
and  plums,  with  its  nicety  of  dress  and  manner,  is 
not  half  so  well  fitted  to  your  nature  as  a  summer's 
Saturday  afternoon,  when  the  blithe  air  calls  you 
forth,  and  with  baskets  for  berries  and  nuts,  in  groups 
of  two  and  three  and  four,  you  turn  your  footsteps 


AS    A    LECTURER.  413 

and  hearts  to  the  greenwood  and  the  plains.  Our 
young  girls  are  forbidden  the  free  sports  that  are  the 
delight  and  health  of  boys.  They  practise  callisthe- 
nic  gesticulations  for  exercise.  Nature,  methinks, 
would  lead  them  into  the  open  sunshine,  send  them 
for  nosegays  on  the  hill-side,  and  teach  them  to  sport 
freely  on  the  healthful  bosom  of  the  earth. 

"  Independence-day  comes,  and  brings  with  it 
something  of  rural  life,  in  its  lawn  festivities,  with 
their  green  arbors,  flower-wreaths,  and  tree-shaded 
seats.  There  are  smiles  of  the  beautiful,  and  there 
is  intercourse  of  the  friendly.  But  childhood  pours 
not  its  full  heart  into  those  scenes.  Day  after  Inde 
pendence  comes  ;  and  you  may  see,  or  might  see  (I 
hope  the  practice  is  continued),  companies  of  boys 
and  girls  toiling,  or  rather,  I  should  say,  sporting, 
their  way  up  the  steep  path  that  conducts  to  the 
summit  of  our  Holyoke.  Holyoke,  —  what  subterra 
nean  fires  threw  up  that  observatory  ?  What  unseen 
power  rolled  back  the  hills,  and  spread  out  this 
beautiful  valley  ?  What  river-nymph,  with  her 
white  waters,  lingers  in  these  meadows,  embalming 
the  scene  in  beauty,  and  pouring  fertility  over  the 
soil  ?  Holyoke  is  our  own  and  our  loved.  Gaze, 
my  boy,  upon  the  scene  at  your  feet.  You  may 
never  behold  a  fairer.  Look  at  your  own  town, 
with  its  straggling  streets  and  pretty  houses.  Let 
your  eye  follow  the  declivity  that  comes  from  the 
far  western  clouds,  and  terminates  by  the  river's 
margin.  You  see  the  villages  and  the  woodland. 
You  know  what  hearts  are  there,  and  what  homes. 
Let  your  eye  travel  to  the  northward  and  the  south- 

35* 


414  AS    A    LECTURER. 

ward.  Treasure  up  the  objects  you  witness.  They 
are  the  pride  of  New  England ;  they  are  scenes 
of  your  home.  In  the  far  south,  the  Connecticut 
seems  to  have  mounted  upwards  towards  the  skies  ; 
and  there  it  rests  in  the  light  of  the  sun,  pure  and 
white  as  the  rivers  of  heaven.  Angels  might  step 
down  and  float  in  pastime  on  that  surface.  Recollect, 
my  boy,  our  spirits  must  tend  upward,  upward,  till, 
in  the  full  illumination  of  heaven,  they  shine  spotless 
and  pure.  On  the  verge  of  the  rock  that  forms  the 
precipitous  part  of  the  mountain,  you  will  find  a 
little  flower,  —  the  blue-bell.  Examine  it.  Re 
member  its  shaping  and  its  hue.  It  is  a  simple,  blue 
flower.  But  in  coming  years,  in  zones  and  meridians 
far  removed  from  hence,  you  may  meet  that  same 
blue-bell.  I  need  not  tell  you  it  will  be  pleasant 
then  to  have  brought  to  your  mind  the  view  from 
Holyoke,  the  valley  of  the  Connecticut,  and  the 
home  of  your  childhood." 

EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  LECTURE  ENTITLED 
"THE  BEAUTIFUL." 

"  I  will  instance  this,  the  light  of  day,  as  that 
which  is  beautiful  to  everybody.  Take  this  in  the 
bland,  Madonna-like  blush  of  morning,  the  unfa 
thomable  blue  of  noon,  with  its  islands  of  opal  and 
snow,  and  at  sunset,  when  the  sky  thrills  with  color 
and  flame ;  take  it  as  it  appears  on  the  plains  of  the 
tropics,  where  it  inspires  the  traveller  with  a  certain 
majestic  tranquillity,  and  where  it  seems  to  wrap  all 
objects  in  a  harmonious  and  dream-like  vapor ;  take 


AS    A    LECTURER.  415 

it  nearer  the  poles,  where  its  oblique  rays,  striking 
across  the  inequalities  of  glacier-land,  portray  castles 
and  caves,  and  where,  with  fairy  power,  it  weaves 
above  the  spectator  crowns  of  glory  and  splendor ; 
take  it  in  its  Attican  softness  or  Italian  purity ;  take  it 
as  it  is  refracted  in  the  rainbow,  or  concentrated  in  the 
dew-drop  ;  take  it  as  it  beams  in  the  eye  of  health,  or 
as  it  reposes  on  the  face  of  the  dead,  —  take  it  where 
you  will,  and  it  is  beautiful ;  and  all  acknowledge  it 
to  be  so.  As  it  touches  the  wretched  kraal  of  the 
Hottentot,  his  susceptibility  kindles  to  it ;  the  Green- 
lander,  from  his  subterranean  abode,  amid  lubber 
and  foulness,  blesses  it ;  the  North  American  Indian, 
whose  fashion  was  paint,  whose  art  was  a  bow,  whose 
pride  has  ever  been  the  rejection  of  what  we  call 
civilization  and  refinement,  hailed  its  glimmer  in  the 
greenwood ;  the  Turkish  female,  notwithstanding 
the  unpardonable  mistake  she  has  made  in  her  trow- 
sers,  never  mistakes  the  beauty  of  sunlight. 

"Furthermore,  God,  the  God  and  Father  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  has  sought  to  make  that  same 
Jesus,  our  Saviour,  beautiful,  pleasing,  attractive  to 
the  human  mind.  How  did  Christ  appear  ?  Was 
there  any  thing  in  him  fitted  to  arouse  repugnance, 
suggest  suspicion  ;  any  thing  to  displease  or  affront 
a  rational  being  ?  He  says,  '  I  am  come  a  light  into 
the  world,'  and  again,  '  I  am  the  light  of  the  world,' 
—  morning,  noontide,  the  clearing  off  of  night  and 
storm,  the  blue-break  into  the  sin  and  sorrow  that 
were  as  clouds  over  our  anxious  day ;  light,  the 
light  of  the  world,  blended,  confluent,  choir-like, 
sun,  moon,  and  stars,  that  Christ  was. 


416  AS    A    LECTURER. 

"  Moreover,  Christ  would  commend  his  person 
and  mission  to  mankind  by  this  superadded  enrich 
ment  of  beautiful  ideas.  -  He  calls  himself  a  vine,  a 
shepherd,  a  well  of  water,  —  touching  images  of  the 
East.  He  is  not  merely  a  shepherd,  but  a  good, 
icaMf,  the  beautiful  shepherd.  Sylvan  pictures  ap 
pear  in  his  teachings :  a  marriage-festival  adds  a 
certain  liveliness  to  the  sacred  drama ;  he  embroiders, 
if  I  may  so  say,  the  lily  on  his  great  ideas  ;  birds 
spring  up  from  the  ground  where  he  treads,  and 
carol  his  faith  and  love.  Never  did  I  understand 
the  great,  brooding  heart  of  Jesus,  or  the  tenderness 
of  his  tears,  till  this  very  summer,  when  I  had  a 
hen  of  my  own,  and  saw  her  gather  her  chickens 
under  her  wings  ;  nor  shall  we  ever  understand  the 
glory,  the  beauty,  the  loveliness  of  his  second  coming, 
till  we  study  more  the  glory,  beauty,  and  loveliness 
of  the  clouds  in  which  that  coming  is  symbolized. 

"  There  must  be  beauty  in  religion,  or  we  cannot 
cordially  embrace  it;  in  prayer,  or  we  cannot  take 
pleasure  in  it ;  in  repentance,  or  we  shall  never  sin 
cerely  exercise  it ;  in  duty,  or  we  shall  not  cheerfully 
go  forward  in  it. 

"  There  is  beauty  in  consistency  of  character,  and 
for  this  we  admire  it ;  beauty  in  a  well-spent  life, 
coming  in  like  a  shock  of  corn  fully  ripe,  and  for 
this  it  awes  us  ;  beauty  in  well-regulated  domestic 
affairs,  and  therefore  we  rejoice  in  it.  There  must 
be  beauty  in  our  own  deepest  being,  or  there  will  be 
none  to  love  us. 

"There  is  beauty  even  in  sadness  and  sorrow,  in 
tears  and  grief;  beauty  in  the  memory  that  inurns 


AS    A    LECTURER.  417 

the  dead ;  in  the  fidelity  that  bears  flowers  to  the 
grave-side ;  in  the  vigils  that  bereavement  keeps 
through  the  long  night  of  its  anguish. 

"  There  is  in  the  human  mind,  I  think,  an  undying 
desire  for  the  beautiful.  It  is  an  unquenchable 
thirst,  an  innate  instinct.  The  slovenliness  and  bru 
tality  of  the  ages  have  not  wholly  stifled  it.  Like 
the  good  and  the  true,  so  is  it  an  aspiration.  It  is  a 
species  of  rest  to  the  soul,  as  it  is  a  consummation 
of  endeavor.  No  character,  no  deed,  no  work,  ever 
yet  satisfied  us,  that  did  not  rise  above  mere  utility 
into  those  harmonies  and  unities  and  sweetnesses 
that  we  call  the  beautiful.  No  smirched  iron-worker 
ever  yet  drove  a  rivet,  that  did  not,  after  the  useful 
was  done,  add  a  few  more  blows  for  the  beautiful. 
There  is  no  word  that  so  expresses  the  whole  of 
deepest  human  feeling,  that  so  outshadows  what  can 
only  be  felt,  and  not  expressed,  as  beautiful. 

"  While  we  cannot  define  the  nature  of  the  beau 
tiful,  nor  enumerate  all  its  types,  it  may  be  we  have 
some  clear  glimpse  of  its  final  cause.  Why  did 
God  make  all  things  beautiful  ?  Out  of  the  exceed 
ing  beauty  of  his  own  nature.  Out  of  the  beauty 
of  his  own  nature,  he  would  that  all  his  offspring, 
the  animate  and  inanimate  world,  rational  intelli 
gences,  and  the  busy  spheres,  should  be  beautiful 
too.  Every  thing  of  God's  that  we  look  upon,  — 
the  stellary  worlds,  the  feathered  tribes,  the  floral 
realms,  snow  and  rain  ;  so  also  patience,  heroism, 
faith,  love,  —  all  reflect  the  brightness  of  the  glory, 
and  bear  marks  of  the  express  image  of  the  person, 
of  the  Almighty. 


418  AS    A    LECTURER. 

"  I  have  read  of  a  temple  of  alabaster  so  clear  as 
to  be  always  full  of  light,  without  doors  or  windows. 
We  are  in  such  a  temple,  the  universe,  ever  shining 
with  the  light  of  the  beautiful.  Darkness  is  beau 
tiful,  so  is  the  storm  ;  winter  is  beautiful  in  its  high 
brilliancy,  its  wavy  drifts,  its  starry  flakes,  in  the 
moonlight  flooding  down  the  enamelled  slopes,  — 
beautiful  in  this,  that,  as  a  robe  of  ermine,  the  snow 
warms  and  cherishes  the  bosom  of  our  mother-earth, 
with  all  her  fountains  and  streams,  all  her  seeds  and 
roots. 

"  By  all  that  God  hath  made,  —  by  the  glittering 
dew,  by  the  soft  gliding  of  water,  by  the  notes  of 
birds,  by  the  curved  line,  by  Corinthian  proportions, 
by  the  endless  purposes  of  utility,  by  the  tenacious 
charm  of  association,  by  the  vine  that  shall  festoon 
the  communion  of  nations,  by  the  firmamental  bright 
ness  of  wisdom,  by  the  resplendent  immensity  of  his 
own  attributes,  by  his  own  glorious  image  seen  in 
Jesus,  by  the  fathomless  depths  of  human  sentiment, 
—  God  is  calling  us  to  adoration  and  to  duty,  to 
repentance  and  to  love. 

"  And  heaven  itself  —  what  is  it  but  the  starry 
dome  that  overhangs  our  little  faith  and  hope  here  ; 
the  bud  and  blossom  of  these  germinant,  terrestrial 
years ;  the  Infinite,  with  white  arms  and  golden 
crowns,  welcoming  the  finite  to  a  higher  birth,  into 
still  higher  realms  of  truth,  goodness,  and  beauty  ?  " 


AS    A    LECTURER.  419 

FROM    THE    LECTURE    ENTITLED 
"  LANGUAGE." 

In  this  lecture,  Mr.  Judd  maintains  the  position 
that  language  was  of  divine  origin,  and  thus  he  dis 
courses  :  — 

"  The  original,  divine  words  filled  the  great  reser 
voir  of  human  speech,  which  has  been  flowing  down 
all  the  mountains  and  through  all  the  valleys  of 
human  society ;  now  throwing  itself  off  in  beautiful, 
many-tinted,  belles-lettres  vapor;  here  taught  by 
the  poet  to  leap  in  jets,  or  pour  in  cascades ;  some 
times  distilled  by  philosophers,  sometimes  muddied 
by  boys ;  and  in  which,  at  last,  Christianity  itself  is 
embodied,  and  descends  as  the  dew  and  the  rain 
upon  the  earth. 

"  There  is  something  sublime,  perhaps  awful,  in 
words.  The  two.  Krepoevra,  the  winged  words,  the 
utterances  of  the  fireside  and  the  market-place, 
the  confidential  whisper,  the  fleeting  gossip,  the  elo 
quence  of  the  forum,  the  talk  of  the  table,  go  up,  on 
the  one  hand,  to  the  judgment-seat ;  they  go  down, 
on  the  other,  to  the  creation ;  they  connect  us  with 
men  and  ages  past,  they  connect  us  with  God,  the 
infinite  Father  of  all ;  the  original,  indestructible 
media  of  human  intercourse,  descending  from  gene 
ration  to  generation,  passing  through  the  lips  of  this 
present  time,  and  surviving  to  the  latest  period  of 
man's  existence  on  the  earth.  .  .  . 

11  Time  was  when  there  were  no  words ;  when 
the  universe,  the  sun  and  the  stars,  the  shadowy 
grove,  the  whistling  wind,  the  glancing  brook,  the 


4£0  AS    A    LECTURER. 

playful  fawn,  the  swift-winged  bird,  had  no  name ; 
when  all  things  were,  in  a  sense,  blank,  devoid  of 
interest ;  when,  too,  man,  with  all  his  powers,  was, 
as  I  think,  utterly  impotent  to  bestow  these  names. 
Divine  love  interposes,  and  not  only  sets  man  out 
on  his  journey  of  life,  but  gives  him  wherewithal  to 
make  the  journey  pleasant  and  prosperous.  .  .  . 

"  Language  is,  in  a  sense,  eternal.  It  survived 
the  first  pair  to  whom  it  was  communicated  ;  it  sur 
vives  the  generations  through  whom  it  is  transmitted ; 
it  survives  the  vicissitudes  of  empire  and  the  decline 
of  nations  ;  it  lives  on  when  marble  columns  and 
brazen  statues  crumble.  How  could  such  a  thing  be 
left  to  the  mere  winds  of  chance  to  blow  together  ? 
It  must,  in  the  nature  of  things,  have  possessed  con 
siderable  perfection,  even  in  its  incipiency  and  primi 
tive  use.  Man  could  not  invent  it ;  God  alone  could 
give  it.  ... 

"What  marks  of  a  divine  hand,  what  glorious 
traces  of  an  Almighty,  benign  interference,  what 
beams  of  supernatural  light,  cluster  about  the  first 
epoch  of  our  world !  Is  it  not  almost  literally  true, 
that  the  morning  stars  sang  together,  and  all  the 
sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy  ?  Then,  when  man 
required  still  further  the  guiding  care  of  heaven, 
God  spake  to  the  fathers  by  the  prophets,  and  now 
speaks  to  us  by  his  Son.  Oh !  I  can  believe  it  all :  I 
can  feel  it.  One  is  led  to  exclaim,  Oh  the  height, 
the  depth,  of  the  goodness  of  God !  " 


AS    A    LECTURER.  421 

"  IDEA    OF    OUR    COUNTRY." 

In  this  address  Mr.  Judd  shows  the  leading  ideas 
of  our  country,  in  contrast  with  existing  facts.  He 
closes  as  follows  :  — 

"  We  have  great  and  goodly  ideas.  To  these  I 
would  recur;  in  the  light  of  these,  I  would  this 
brief  moment  might  be  passed.  God  only  knows 
what  is  before  us ;  yet  God  has  put  it  in  our  power 
to  make  every  thing  bright  along  our  way. 

"Like  shadows  on  our  hill-sides,  the  spirits  of 
past  ages  assemble  around  us  ;  they  unfold  the  dread 
panorama  of  history  ;  they  say,  Head  and  learn,  pon 
der  and  be  wise.  The  Genius  of  America,  too,  rises 
to  view,  youthful  but  collected,  fair  and  sad ;  the 
words  of  all  time  beat  his  sunny  locks ;  his  foot  stands 
on  a  mountain,  the  verdure  of  which  is  the  decay  of 
dynasties  and  the  dissolution  of  empires.  Around 
him  are  empty  mausolea,  crumbling  arches  ;  temples, 
once  gorgeous  in  worship,  peopled  by  moles  and 
bats  ;  palaces,  once  fraught  with  luxury  and  hum 
ming  with  gladness,  buried  in  the  sand;  commerce, 
such  as  your  promising  town  never  dreamed  of, 
stranded  on  black  and  silent  shores ;  on  the  stream 
of  years  that  rushes  by,  float  the  wrecks  of  upturned 
grandeur,  and  a  turbid  medley  of  art,  wealth,  and 
power.  Battle-fields  and  conflagrations  pour  lurid 
horror  on  the  sky,  whithersoever  he  turns.  'Great 
God  ! '  methinks  I  hear  him  say,  '  What  is  the  hope 
of  my  country  ? '  From  the  upper  heavens,  clear  and 
blue,  a  voice  replies,  —  a  voice  as  of  the  Son  of  God, 
'  Let  Americans  love  one  another,  let  them  be  at 

36 


422  AS    A    LECTURER. 

peace  with  all  men ;  if  their  enemy  hunger,  feed 
him  ;  fling  away  the  sword,  arm  yourselves  in  virtue, 
free  the  slave,  affiliate  the  Indian,  enact  the  highest 
laws,  negociate  by  eternal  rectitude,  conquer  by 
kindness,  annex  by  sympathy,  obey  God,  and  he  will 
dwell  with  you,  and  ye  shall  be  his  people.' 

"Bright-winged  cherubim  take  the  Genius  to  a 
still  higher  mountain,  and  show  him  a  far  and  glo 
rious  futurity,  where  are  pleasant  vales  and  limpid 
streams,  and  many  a  goodly  village,  and  many  a 
forest-city,  and  railroads,  and  mills,  and  spires  of 
churches,  and  cupolas  of  school-houses,  and  white 
pennons  streaming,  and  bands  of  music  playing ; 
and,  above  all,  is  the  dome  of  the  sanctuary  where 
everlasting  love  abides,  —  and  that  is  America." 

A  few  passages  follow  from  Mr.  Judd's  lecture  on 

"THE    PURITANS." 

"  Their  (the  Puritans')  vision  in  some  respects  was 
very  distinct,  in  others  obscure.  That  the  privilege 
of  sinning  could  be  purchased  by  money,  that  kings 
were  the  appropriate  head  of  the  church,  that  any 
sanctity  lay  in  the  color  of  a  gown,  were  things 
which  they  saw  to  be  enormities.  Yet  they  believed 
in  witches,  in  portents,  in  apparitions.  Still,  when 
I  reflect  on  the  myriad  superstitions  of  all  sorts  and 
on  all  subjects  that  prevailed  in  the  old  world,  I  am 
rather  astonished  that  our  fathers  brought  so  few  of 
them  to  the  new.  They  left  behind,  not  only  holy- 
days,  but  hosts  of  unlucky  days.  In  England,  the 
clergy  were  wont  to  repeat  the  creed,  looking  towards 


AS    A    LECTURER.  423 

the  East :  the  Puritans  thought  holy  aspirations 
could  be  uttered  towards  any  point  of  the  compass. 

"  They  were  earnest  men,  with  souls  in  their 
bosoms,  and  desires  which  nothing  but  an  eternal 
life  could  satisfy.  They  were  earnest  in  their  reli 
gion  ;  they  wanted  to  be  near  to  God,  and  have  God 
near  to  them  ;  kneeling,  vestments,  neat  and  proper 
as  they  may  be,  the  rites  that  had  accumulated  in  the 
church,  were  all  dark  bodies  between  them  and 
the  sun,  a  constraint  on  their  spirits.  For  myself,  I 
must  say,  I  love  to  turn  my  mind  towards  them, 
though  perhaps  I  should  not  enjoy  being  among 
them.  They  seem  to  me  stern  and  awful  men,  like 
those  described  by  Isaiah,  who  thresh  the  mountains 
and  beat  them  small,  and  make  the  hills  of  vanity  as 
chaff.  Their  heavy  tread  is  as  the  tramp  of  doom 
to  innumerable  vices  and  follies  of  the  world.  They 
appear  to  me  rather  just  than  loving  men ;  more 
inflexible  than  comprehensive :  few  smiles  play 
among  the  perpetual  rigors  of  their  faces.  Their 
justice  seems  not  always  to  have  been  tempered  with 
mercy  or  with  wisdom.  They  would  make  admira 
ble  groups  of  statuary :  they  are  not  such  men  as  the 
women  of  our  time  would  be  apt  to  choose  in  mar 
riage.  The  epithet  blue  has  been  applied  to  them 
and  their  doings ;  not  blue,  I  should  say,  but  rather 
bronze. 

"  The  most  interesting  light  in  which  I  can  view 
the  Puritans  of  New  England  is  their  progressive 
character.  They  were,  in  the  providence  of  God, 
the  ordained  missionaries  of  progress  to  the  world. 
That  they  fully  realized  the  extent  of  their  charge, 


4£4  AS    A    LECTURER. 

cannot  be  asserted ;  yet  they  had  some  most  palpable 
consciousness  of  what  they  were  to  accomplish.  In 
the  covenant  I  read,  this  appears  :  they  promise  obe 
dience  to  whatever  truth  they  had,  and  to  all  that 
should  be  made  known  to  them.  They  could  not  shut 
themselves  in  articles  and  confessions  ;  they  did  not 
feel  that  they  possessed  all  truth  ;  they  would  rever 
ently  wait  on  those  divine  oracles  that  are  ever  utter 
ing  their  voice  to  mankind.  .  .  . 

"  Puritanism,  or,  as  I  might  say,  Congregational 
ism  in  New  England,  has  made  progress,  and  been 
the  means  of  progress,  —  in  science,  in  religion,  in 
liberty,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  far  beyond  any 
other  system  that  has  existed.  Other  systems  have 
nourished  under  its  shadow,  or  attached  themselves, 
misletoe-like,  to  its  trunk ;  but  this  is  the  mighty 
tree  that  sustains  the  whole.  In  their  own  simple 
language,  they  were  "  stepping-stones  unto  others  ;  " 
lowlily,  resolutely  bending,  that,  as  it  were;  from 
their  necks  the  genius  of  America  might  mount  to 
its  sublime  elevation.  To  quote  their  own  words, 
they  e  broke  the  ice  for  others.'  They  were  needed 
men,  with  their  coarse  iron  shoes,  to  break  the  ice  of 
usurpation  and  nonsense,  beneath  which  lay  the  floods 
of  everlasting  beauty.  .  .  . 

"  Their  principles  were  better  than  their  practice. 
Their  principles,  which  recognized  God  and  his  word 
as  the  supreme  arbiter,  and  men  as  equals,  must 
needs  lead  to  great  issues ;  their  principles  were 
regenerative  and  progressive  ;  they  were  higher  than 
they  were,  and  rose  like  the  sun  upon  their  own 
mists  and  darkness,  and  dispersed  them.  .  .  . 


AS    A    LECTURER.  425 

"With  some  trembling  anticipations,  with  some 
flutter  of  hope,  I  think  they  saw  what  was  before 
them ;  their  eyes,  penetrating  the  forests  and  the 
gloom  in  which  they  were  embayed,  got  some 
glimpses  of  the  illustrious  future  that  lay  in  the 
distance.  They  would  not  always  preach  under  a 
great  tree,  nor  send  to  England  for  peas  and  oat 
meal;  nor  would  Boston  be  always  infested  with 
wolves  and  rattlesnakes.  That  their  vista  embraced 
what  now  meets  the  eye  of  the  beholder,  this  em 
pire,  these  states,  cities,  towns,  may  hardly  be 
imagined." 

EXTRACTS    FROM   THE   LECTURE   DENOMINATED  "  THE 
DRAMATIC   ELEMENT   IN    THE    BIBLE." 

"  In  the  commencement  of  the  Old  Testament, 
after  a  brief  prologue,  the  curtain  rises,  and  we,  as 
spectators,  look  in  upon  a  process  of  interlocution. 
The  scene  is  the  sunny  garden  of  Eden.  The  dra 
mails  persona  are  three  individuals,  Adam,  Eve,  and 
the  Serpent.  There  are  the  mysterious  tree,  with 
its  wonderful  fruit;  the  beautiful  but  inquisitive 
woman ;  the  thoughtful  but  too  compliant  man ;  and 
the  insinuating  reptile.  The  plot  thickens,  the 
passions  are  displayed,  and  the  tragedy  hastens  to  its 
sorrowful  end.  The  voice  of  the  Lord  God,  walking 
in  the  garden  in  the  cool  of  the  day,  is  heard ;  the 
impersonal  presence  of  Jehovah  is,  as  it  were,  felt  in 
the  passing  breeze,  and  a  shadow  like  an  eclipse  falls 
upon  the  earth. 

"  But,  leaving  these  scenes,  let  us  turn  to  others 

36* 


426  AS    A    LECTURER. 

more  grateful.  In  the  light  of  our  subject,  we  will 
approach  the  New  Testament.  How  different  do  all 
things  appear !  "We  seem  to  stand  on  some  new 
realm  of  being. 

"  Through  the  tempest  and  storm,  the  brutality 
and  lust  of  the  Greek  tragedians,  and  even  of  the 
barbarous  times  on  which  Shakspeare  builds  many 
of  his  plays ;  through  the  night  of  Judaical  back 
sliding,  idolatry,  and  carnal  commandments,  we  pa 
tiently  wait,  and  gladly  hail  the  morning  of  the  Sun 
of  Righteousness.  The  New  Testament  is  a  green, 
calm  island  in  this  heaving,  fearful  ocean  of  dramatic 
interest. 

"  But  how  shall  we  describe  what  is  before  us  ? 
The  events  open,  if  we  may  draw  a  term  from  our 
subject,  with  a  prologue  spoken  by  angels,  — '  Peace 
on  earth,  and  good-will  among  men.'  There  had 
been  Jezebels  and  Lady  Macbeths  enough ;  the  me 
mory  of  David  still  smelt  of  blood;  the  Roman 
eagles  were  gorging  their  beaks  on  human  flesh ;  and 
the  Samaritan  everywhere  felt  the  gnawing,  shud 
dering  sense  of  hatred  and  scorn.  No  chorus  appears 
answering  to  chorus,  praising  the  God  of  battles,  or 
exulting  in  the  achievement  of  arms ;  but  the  sym 
pathies  of  Him  who  was  touched  with  the  feeling  of 
our  infirmities  answer  to  the  wants  and  woes  of  the 
race,  and  every  thoughtful  mind  ecstatically  encores. 
The  inexorable  fate  of  the  Greeks  does  not  appear  ; 
but  a  good  Providence  interferes,  and  Heaven  smiles 
graciously  upon  the  scene.  There  is  passion  indeed, 
grief  and  sorow,  sin  and  suffering  ;  but  the  Tempest- 
stiller  is  here,  who  breathes  tranquillity  upon  the 


AS    A    LECTURER.  427 

waters,  and  pours  serenity  into  the  troubled  deep. 
The  Niobe  of  humanity,  stiff  and  speechless,  with 
her  enmarbled  children,  that  used  sometimes  to  be 
introduced  on  the  Athenian  stage  for  purposes  of 
terror  or  pity,  is  here  restored  to  life ;  and  she  ren 
ders  thanks  for  her  deliverance,  and  participates  in 
the  general  joy  to  which  the  peace  gives  birth.  No 
murderers  of'  the  prophets  are  hewn  in  pieces  before 
the  Lord ;  but,  from  the  agonies  of  the  cross  and  the 
depths  of  a  preternatural  darkness,  on  behalf  of  the 
murderers  of  the  Son  of  God,  the  tender  cry  is  heard, 
' Father,  forgive  them:  they  know  not  what  they  do.' 
No  Alcestis  is  exhibited,  doomed  to  destruction, 
to  save  the  life  of  her  husband ;  but  One  appears, 
moving  cheerfully,  voluntarily  forwards,  to  what 
may  be  termed  the  funeral-pile  of  the  world ;  from 
which,  phoenix -like,  he  rises  and  gloriously  ascends, 
drawing  after  him  the  hearts,  the  love,  the  worship 
of  millions  of  spectators. 

"  The  key  to  the  whole  piece  is  redemption :  the 
spirit  that  actuates  it  is  love.  The  chief  actors, 
indeed,  are  Christ  and  man  ;  but  innumerable  sub 
sidiary  personages  are  the  charities.  The  elements 
of  a  spiritualized  existence  act  their  part.  Humanity 
is  not  changed  in  its  substance,  but,  in  its  tendencies, 
the  sensibilities  exist,  but  under  a  divine  culture. 
Stephen  is  as  heroic  as  Agamemnon  ;  Mary,  as  ener 
getic  as  Medea.  Little  children  are  no  longer  dashed 
in  pieces  :  they  are  embraced  and  blessed. 

"  But  I  wish  to  select  for  your  attention,  and  for 
a  conclusion  to  these  remarks,  a  particular  scene. 
It  shall  be  from  Luke.  This  evangelist  has  been 


A.S    A    LECTURER. 

fabled  a  painter ;  and,  in  the  apotheosis  of  the  old 
church,  he  was  made  the  tutelar  patron  of  that  form 
of  art.  If  the  individuality  of  his  conceptions,  the 
skill  of  his  groupings,  and  the  graphicness  of  his 
touch,  gave  rise  to  such  an  idea,  it  would  seem  to 
have  its  foundation  as  well  in  nature  as  in  super 
stition.  .  .  . 

"  The  event  is  Christ's  dining  at  the  house  of 
Simon  the  Pharisee,  and,  while  they  were  reclining 
at  meat,  the  entrance  of  a  woman,  which  was  a 
sinner,  who  bathes  the  feet  of  Jesus  with  tears,  and 
wipes  them  with  the  hair  of  her  head.  The  place 
is  the  city  of  Nain  ;  the  hour,  noon.  The  dramatis 
persona  are  three,  —  Jesus,  Simon,  and  the  woman  ; 
and,  if  we  choose  to  add,  the  other  guests,  who  are 
silent  spectators  of  what  transpires. 

"  Let  us  consider,  first,  the  woman.  *  She  was  a 
sinner.'  This  is  all,  in  fact,  we  know  of  her  ;  but 
this  is  enough.  The  poetry  of  sin  and  shame  calls 
her  the  Magdalen  ;  and  there  may  be  a  convenience 
in  permitting  this  name  to  stand. 

"  She  was  condemned  to  wear  a  dress  different 
from  other  people  ;  she  was  liable,  at  any  moment, 
to  be  stoned  for  her  conduct ;  she  was  one  whom  it 
was  a  ritual  impurity  to  touch. 

"  She  was  wretched  beyond  measure  ;  but,  while 
so  corrupt,  she  was  not  utterly  hardened.  Incapable 
of  virtue,  she  was  not  incapable  of  gratitude.  Wel 
tering  in  grossness,  she  could  still  be  touched  by  the 
sight  of  purity. 

"  The  vision  of  Jesus  had  alighted  upon  her.  She 
had  seen  him  speeding  on  his  errands  of  mercy ;  she 


AS    A    LECTURER.  429 

hung  about  the  crowd  that  followed  his  steps ;  his 
tender  look  of  pity  may  have  sometimes  gleamed 
into  her  soul.  Stricken,  smitten,  confounded,  her 
yearnings  for  peace  gush  forth  afresh. 

"But  how  shall  she  see  Jesus  ?  Wherewithal 
shall  she  approach  him  ?  '  She  has  nothing  to  pay.' 
She  has  tears  -enough,  and  sorrows  enough ;  but 
these  are  derided  by  the  vain,  and  suspected  by  the 
wise.  She  has  an  alabaster-box  of  ointment,  which, 
shut  out  as  she  is  from  honorable  gain,  must  be  the 
product  and  the  concomitant  of  her  guilt.  But  with 
this  she  must  go.  We  see  her  threading  her  lonely 
way  through  the  streets,  learning  by  hints,  since  she 
would  not  dare  to  learn  by  questions,  where  Jesus 
is  ;  and  she  stops  before  the  vestibule  of  the  elegant 
mansion  of  Simon  the  Pharisee.  Who  was  Simon 
the  Pharisee  ?  He  could  not  have  been  an  unprin 
cipled,  villainous  man,  or  he  would  never  have 
tendered  to  Jesus  the  hospitalities  of  his  house.  He 
was  probably  a  rich  man,  which  might  appear  from 
the  generous  entertainment  he  made.  He  was  a 
respectable  man.  The  sect  to  which  he  belonged 
was  the  most  celebrated  and  influential  among  the 
Jews.  He  had  some  interest  in  Christ,  either  in  his 
mission  or  his  character,  —  an  interest  beyond  mere 
curiosity,  —  or  he  would  not  have  desired  him  to 
dine  with  him.  He  betrays  a  sincere  friendliness 
also  in  his  apprehension  lest  Christ  should  suffer  any 
religious  contamination. 

"  The  third  person  in  the  scene  is  Christ,  who,  to 
speak  of  him,  not  as  theology  has  interpreted  him 
to  us,  but  as  he  appeared  to  the  eyes  of  his  contem- 


430  AS    A    LECTURER. 

poraries,  was  the  reputed  son  of  Joseph  and  Mary, 
the  Bethlehemites  ;  who,  by  his  words  and  deeds, 
had  attracted  much  attention,  and  made  some  con 
verts  ;  now  accused  of  breaking  the  Jewish  sabbath, 
now  of  plotting  against  the  Roman  sovereignty ;  one 
who,  in  his  own  person,  had  felt  the  full  power  of 
temptation,  and  who  had  been  raised  to  the  grandeur 
of  a  transfiguration  ;  so  tender,  he  would  not  bruise 
the  broken  reed  ;  so  gentle,  his  yoke  was  rest ;  ray 
ing  out  with  compassion  and  love  wherever  he  went ; 
healing  alike  the  pangs  of  grief  and  the  languor  of 
disease  ;  whom  some  believed  to  be  the  Messiah, 
and  others  thought  a  prophet ;  whom  the  masses 
followed,  and  the  priests  feared.  This  is  the  third 
member  of  the  company. 

"  The  two  last,  with  the  other  guests,  are  engaged 
at  their  meal,  and  in  conversation. 

"  The  door  is  darkened  by  a  strange  figure ;  all 
eyes  are  riveted  on  the  apparition ;  the  Magdalen 
enters  with  long  dishevelled  hair.  She  has  no  intro 
duction,  she  says  nothing ;  indeed,  in  all  this  remark 
able  scene,  she  never  speaks ;  her  silence  is  as 
significant  as  it  is  profound.  She  goes  behind  the 
couch  where  Jesus,  according  to  Oriental  custom,  is 
reclining.  She  drops  at  his  feet ;  then  her  tears 
stream ;  then  the  speechless  agony  of  her  soul 
bursts. 

"  Observe  the  workings  of  the  moment.  See  how 
those  people  are  affected.  Surprise  on  the  part  of 
Simon  and  his  friends  turns  to  scorn,  and  this  shades 
into  indignation.  Jesus  is  calm,  collected,  and  in 
tently  thoughtful.  The  woman  is  overwhelmed  by 


AS    A    LECTURER.  431 

her  situation.  The  lip  of  Simon  curls,  his  eye 
flashes  with  fire  of  outraged  virtue ;  Jesus  meets  his 
gaze  with  equal  fire,  but  it  is  all  of  pure  heavenly 
feeling.  Simon  moves  to  have  the  vagabond  ex 
pelled;  Christ  interrupts  the  attempt.  But  the 
honor  of  the  house  is  insulted.  Yes,  but  the  undying 
interests  of  the  soul  are  at  stake.  But  the  breath  of 
the  woman  is  poison,  and  her  touch  will  bring  down 
the  curses  of  the  law.  But  the  look  of  Christ  indi 
cates  that  depth  of  spirituality,  before  which  the 
institutions  of  Moses  flee  away  as  chaff'  before  the 
wind.  Simon  has  some  esteem  for  Jesus,  and  in  this 
juncture  his  sensations  take  a  turn  of  pity,  spiced, 
perhaps,  with  a  little  contempt ;  and  he  says  with 
himself,  '  Surely  this  man  cannot  be  a  prophet,  as  is 
pretended,  or  he  would  know  who  and  what  sort  of 
woman  it  is  that  touches  him ;  for  she  is  a  sinner,  she 
is  unclean  and  reprobate.'  'Simon!'  says  Jesus, 
with  a  tone  that  pierced  to  the  worthy  host's  heart, 
and  arrested  the  force  of  his  pious  alarm,  — '  Simon ! ' 
'  Sir,  say  on,'  is  the  reply  of  the  Pharisee,  who  is 
awed  by  this  appeal  into  a  humble  listener.  Where 
upon  Jesus  relates  the  story  of  the  two  debtors,  and, 
with  irresistible  strength  of  illustration  and  delicacy 
of  application,  breaks  the  prejudice  and  wins  the 
composure  of  the  Jew.  '  If  then/  he  continues,  '  he 
loves  much  to  whom  much  is  forgiven,  what  shall 
we  say  of  one  who  loves  so  much?  See,'  he  goes 
on,  pointing  to  the  woman,  — '  see  this  woman,  this 
wretch  :  I  entered  thine  house,  thou  gavest  me  no 
water  for  my  feet ;  but  she  has  washed  my  feet  with 
her  tears,  and  wiped  them  with  her  hair.  She  kisses 


432  AS    A    LECTURER. 

my  feet,  she  anoints  them  with  ointment.  Where 
fore,  I  say  unto  thee,  her  sins,  which  are  many,  are 
forgiven;  for  she  loved  much.' 

"  This  scene,  however  inadequately  it  may  be  set 
forth,  contains  all  that  is  sublime  in  tragedy,  terrible 
in  guilt,  or  intense  in  pathos.  The  woman  repre 
sents  humanity,  or  the  soul  of  human  nature  ;  Simon, 
the  world,  or  worldly  wisdom ;  Christ,  divinity, 
or  the  divine  purposes  of  good  to  us-ward.  Simon 
is  an  incarnation  of  what  St.  Paul  calls  the  beggarly 
elements  ;  Christ,  of  spirituality  ;  the  woman,  of  sin. 
It  is  not  the  woman  alone,  but  in  her  there  cluster 
upon  the  stage  all  want  and  woe,  all  calamity  and 
disappointment,  all  shame  and  guilt ;  in  Christ,  there 
come  forward  to  meet  her,  love,  hope,  truth,  light, 
salvation ;  in  Simon  are  acted  out,  doting  conserva 
tism,  mean  expediency,  purblind  calculation,  carnal 
insensibility.  Generosity,  in  this  scene,  is  con 
fronted  with  meanness  in  the  attempt  to  shelter 
'misfortune.  The  woman  is  a  tragedy  herself,  such 
as  JEschylus  never  dreamed  of.  The  scourging  Fu 
ries,  dread  Fate,  and  burning  Hell,  unite  in  her ;  and, 
borne  on  by  the  new  impulse  of  the  new  dispensation, 
they  come  towards  the  light ;  they  ask  for  peace ; 
they  throng  to  the  heaven  that  opens  in  Jesus.  Si 
mon  embodies  that  vast  array  of  influences  that  stand 
between  humanity  and  its  redemption.  He  is  a  very 
excellent,  a  very  estimable  man ;  but  he  is  not 
shocked  at  intemperance  ;  he  would  not  have  slavery 
disturbed ;  he  sees  a  necessity  for  war.  Does  Christ 
know  who,  and  what  sort  of  a  woman,  it  is  that 
touches  him  ?  Will  he  degrade  himself  by  such  a 


AS    A    LECTURER.  433 

contact?  Can  he  expect  to  accomplish  any  thing 
by  familiarity  with  such  a  person  ?  "Why  is  he  not 
satisfied  with  a  good  dinner  ?  *  Simon  ! '  f  Simon ! '  ' 

"  The  woman  could  not  speak,  and  so  she  wept, 
like  the  raw,  chilling,  hard  atmosphere,  which  is  only 
relieved  by  a  shower  of  snow.  How  could  she 
speak,  guilty,  remorseful  wretch,  without  excuse, 
without  extenuation,  in  the  presence  of  divine  vir 
tue,  at  the  tribunal  of  judgment !  She  could  only 
weep  ;  she  could  only  love.  But,  blessed  be  Jesus, 
he  can  forgive  her,  —  he  can  forgive  all ! 

"  The  woman  departs  in  peace  ;  Simon  is  satisfied ; 
Jesus  triumphs.  We  almost  hear  the  applauses  with 
which  the  ages  and  generations  of  earth  greet  the 
closing  scene.  From  the  serene,  celestial  immensity 
that  opens  above  the  spot,  we  can  distinguish  a  voice 
saying,  'This  is  my  beloved  Son,  hear  ye  him.' 

"  I  speak  of  those  things  as  dramatic ;  but,  after 
all,  they  are  the  only  great  realities. .  Every  thing 
else  is  mimetic,  phantasmal,  tinkling.  Deeply  do  the 
masters  of  the  drama  move  us;  but  the  gospel 
cleaves,  inworks,  regenerates.  In  the  theatre,  the 
leading  characters  go  off  in  death  and  despair,  or  with 
empty  conceits  and  a  forced  frivolity  ;  in  the  gospel, 
tranquilly,  grandly,  they  are  dismised  to  a  serener 
life  and  a  nobler  probation.  Who  has  not  pitied  the 
ravings  of  Lear,  and  the  agonies  of  Othello  ?  The 
gospel  pities ;  but,  by  a  magnificence  of  plot  alto 
gether  its  own,  —  by  preserving,  if  I  may  so  say, 
the  unities  of  heaven  and  earth,  —  it  also  saves. 

"  Of  all  common  tragedy,  we  may  exclaim  in  the 
words  of  the  old  play,  — 
37 


434  AS    A    LECTURER. 

'  How  like  a  silent  stream  shaded  with  night, 
And  gliding  softly,  with  our  windy  sighs, 
Moves  the  whole  frame  of  this  solemnity! ' 

The  gospel  moves  by,  as  a  pure  river  of  water  of  life, 
clear  as  crystal,  from  out  the  throne  of  God  and  the 
Lamb ;  on  its  surface  play  the  sunbeams  of  hope  ;  in 
its  valleys  rise  the  trees  of  life,  beneath  the  shadows 
of  which  the  weary  years  of  human  passion  repose, 
and  from  the  leaves  of  the  branches  of  which  is 
exhaled  to  the  passing  breeze,  healing  for  the  na 
tions." 


435 


CHAPTER  XI. 

HABITS      OF      STUDY. 


WHILE  yet  a  little  boy,  Mr.  Judd  gave  evidence  of 
possessing  an  active,  inquiring  mind,  and  great  faci 
lity  in  the  acquisition  of  knowledge.  His  early 
unconquerable  desire  for  a  student's  life  has  been 
already  portrayed.  He  always  had  a  habit  of  con 
stantly  adding  to  his  stock  of  information,  one  scarcely 
knew  how.  He  was  always  thinking,  even  when  he 
seemed  only  to  be  amusing  himself;  and  had  a  way 
of  educing,  by  some  alchemy  best  known  to  himself, 
something  valuable  in  thought  from  the  most  trifling* 
and  insignificant  things.  There  was  scarcely  any 
thing  he  looked  upon  that  did  not  furnish  some  hint, 
some  suggestion  that  he  found  means  of  turning  to 
good  account. 

An  early  habit  of  his  was  making  use  of  little 
note-books,  or  a  piece  of  paper  folded  up  small,  which 
he  had  always  about  him,  on  which  he  jotted  down, 
as  it  came  before  his  mind,  any  thing  he  wished  par 
ticularly  to  retain.  It  was  one  of  the  most  common 
things,  day  by  day,  to  see  him  quietly  take  from  his 
pocket  one  of  these  bits  of  paper,  and,  with  pencil, 
briefly  note  down  some  talismanic  words,  as  it 
seemed ;  for  rarely  any  eye  but  his  own  ever  lighted 


436  HABITS    OF    STUDY. 

on  these  scraps  of  thought  or  items  of  knowledge. 
From  some  little  specimens,  it  appears  that  they 
were  sometimes  pithy  remarks  of  individuals,  put 
down  verbatim ;  sometimes  a  peculiar  development 
of  human  nature,  or  something  illustrating  the  phi 
losophy  of  mind ;  sometimes  a  broad  truth,  uttered 
by  his  father ;  often  something  by  way  of  self-in 
spection  ;  perhaps  an  unusual  word  that  he  chanced 
to  hear ;  a  valuable  reflection  upon  something  that 
had  fallen  under  his  notice ;  a  question  for  considera 
tion  ;  an  historical  fact ;  critical  distinctions ;  or  an 
expression  of  wit  or  humor. 

He  read  much,  and  his  reading  embraced  an 
extensive  range ;  yet  he  thought  more  than  he  read. 
He  digested  well  whatever  he  perused.  He  never 
read  for  mere  amusement,  but  as  a  study.  He  never 
perused  books  literatim;  but  had  the  power,  by 
glances  here  and  there,  of  catching  at  the  contents, 
pausing  on  the  points  material  to  his  purpose  suffi 
ciently  to  make  them  his  own.  Truth  was  always 
to  him  the  great  thing  sought  after,  "  the  pearl  of 
great  price."  He  wished  to  find  out  the  views 
of  others,  and  their  arguments  for  them ;  but  he 
made  up  his  conclusions  independently,  according 
to  the  dictates  of  his  own  reason  and  conscience. 

He  commenced  a  private  journal  on  his  eighteenth 
birthday,  July  23,  1831,  which  he  continued  for 
about  seventeen  years ;  his  last  date  being  August, 
1848.  In  this,  he  did  not  write  daily,  as  a  matter 
of  form  ;  but  from  the  spontaneity  of  his  feelings, 
whenever  they  prompted.  This  was  sometimes  every 
day,  sometimes  at  longer  intervals  ;  but  so  frequent 


HABITS    OF    STUDY.  437 

as  to  leave  no  important  gaps.  It  was  not  a  record 
of  events,  but  of  emotions ;  not  of  outward  occur 
rences,  but  of  his  inner  life,  —  his  heart,  his  soul, 
religiously  and  emotively.  "With  deep  sensibility, 
he  regarded  this  as  a  sacred  deposit,  a  duplicate  self, 
the  inner  temple  of  his  own  spirit,  into  whose  secret 
chambers  none  might  enter.  Scarcely  a  passage  was 
ever  looked  upon  by  any  eye  but  his  own,  until  he 
found  his  spirit's  mate,  to  whose  inspection  and 
keeping  this,  together  with  his  whole  being,  was 
entrusted.  From  this  source,  it  is  found  that  the 
journal  contains  his  early  religious  experience,  while 
receiving  the  doctrines  of  Calvinism  ;  the  commence 
ment  of  his  difficulties  regarding  adherence  to  that 
faith ;  the  distressing  doubts  and  almost  confirmed 
infidelity  to  which  they  led ;  the  depression  of  his 
troubled  -spirit  during  those  years  of  nervous  de 
bility,  of  darkness  and  loneliness,  which  ensued; 
and  the  record  of  domestic  life,  the  last  few  years 
the  journal  was  continued.  As  they  are  of  a  nature 
so  private,  and  abundant  material  on  all-important 
points  has  been  found  elsewhere,  these  records  have 
been  drawn  from  but  very  sparingly  in  the  prepara 
tion  of  this  history. 

His  first  child  he  made  a  close  study,  and  watched 
all  her  unfoldings  in  the  spirit  and  purpose  of  syste 
matic  investigation.  As  an  aid  in  this,  and  also  as 
furnishing  memoranda  of  interest  to  her  in  after- 
years,  he  immediately  commenced  a  journal  of  the 
child,  which  contains  much  curious  matter  relating  to 
her  babyhood,  her  incipient  mental  development,  and 
her  moral  emotions.  The  same  course,  though  in  a 

37* 


438  HABITS    OF    STUDY. 

less  minute  degree,  lie  pursued  with  his  second  child ; 
and,  as  soon  as  they  were  able  to  use  a  pen,  he 
endeavored  to  lead  them  to  journalize  for  them 
selves. 

Mr.  Judd's  study  of  his  dictionary  is  well  worthy 
of  notice  here.  In  1832,  he  obtained  a  copy  of 
Webster's  royal  octavo  dictionary.  In  a  little  time, 
there  were  observed  to  be,  here  and  there,  numerals 
placed  in  the  margin  against  a  word.  These  went 
on  increasing  from  time  to  time,  and  at  length 
amounted  to  some  thousands,  attracting  the  attention 
of  any  one  who  chanced  to  look  into  the  volume, 
though  they  were  as  mystical  as  Egyptian  hiero 
glyphics  to  any  eye  but  his  own.  After  nearly 
twenty  years'  use,  and  the  great  multiplication  of 
these  figures,  in  1850  he  had  this  dictionary  re 
bound  in  two  volumes,  with  the  insertion  of  blank 
leaves  alternating  with  the  printed  ones.  On  these 
blank  leaves  began  to  appear,  opposite  some  par 
ticular  word,  a  succession  of  synonyms,  or  words  of 
similar  import,  of  every  sort  and  kind,  found  either 
on  other  pages  of  the  dictionary,  or  gathered  up 
from  some  occasional  sources.  On  a  careful  exami 
nation  of  this  dictionary  within  the  last  few  months, 
for  he  ever  kept  the  clew  to  its  apparent  mysteries 
in  his  own  hand,  it  has  been  discovered  that  the 
figures  referred  to  were  made  to  subserve  a  kindred 
purpose  with  the  blank  leaves,  —  that  of  collating 
and  comparing  words  of  like  meaning,  by  indicating 
the  pages  on  which  they  were  to  be  found.  Thus 
did  Mr.  Judd  commence  the  critical  and  systematic 
study  of  his  own  language  with  his  regular  college 


HABITS    OF    STUDY.  439 

pursuits  ;  a  rare  instance,  as  it  is  believed,  of  a  stu 
dent's  feeling  the  supreme  importance,  among  the 
acquisition  of  various  arts  and  sciences,  and  many 
other  languages,  ancient  and  modern,  of  making 
himself  perfect  master  of  his  own  tongue. 

To  this  course  of  study  may  be  attributed  Mr. 
Judd's  power  over  language,  the  richness  and  variety 
of  his  expressions,  and  his  use  of  so  many  terms,  to 
him  familiar  as  household  words,  though  to  many  of 
his  readers  unknown  and  seemingly  strange  and  far 
fetched. 

This  plan  of  introducing  blank  pages  was  rather 
a  favorite  one  with  him.  He  had  a  copy  of  the  first 
edition  of  "  Margaret "  and  of  "  Philo  "  rebound  in 
this  way  for  revision.  In  his  sermons  and  lectures, 
not  only  pages,  but  leaves,  were  often  left  blank,  for 
the  purpose  of  additions  and  the  rewriting  of  pas 
sages  ;  and  on  these  pages  may  be  found  sometimes 
a  scrap  of  newspaper  pinned  on,  containing  an  item 
bearing  upon  a  given  point,  or  some  additional  illus 
tration,  reference,  or  argument,  —  all  showing  that 
the  discourse  was  not  written  to  subserve  a  par 
ticular  temporary  purpose,  and  then  to  be  thrown 
aside  as  a  thing  he  had  no  more  concern  about,  but 
that  it  was  based  on  truths  and  principles  which  were 
his  constant  study,  and  in  regard  to  which  his  mind 
was  perpetually  advancing. 

Of  the  "  Index  Rerum  "  he  availed  himself ;  and 
two  volumes  —  the  first  commenced  in  1834,  and  the 
second  in  1845  —  are  found  filled  with  important 
matter,  references,  and  so  forth. 

Mr.  Judd's  study  exhibits  striking  evidence  of  the 


440  HABITS    OF    STUDY. 

intellectual  progress  he  was  continually  making,  of 
the  multitude  of  diverse  materials  he  was  garnering 
up  for  future  use.  From  newspapers,  of  which  he 
took  a  great  many,  he  cut  out  items  of  every  descrip 
tion,  dates,  speeches,  statistics,  various  matters  of 
fact,  which  he  would  paste  into  a  large  scrap-book 
prepared  for  the  purpose,  under  their  appropriate 
departments,  so  that  they  were  easily  referred  to  as 
occasion  required.  He  had  a  large,  folio  blank- 
book,  into  which  thin,  impermanent  sheet-maps  were 
pasted. 

In  a  blank-book,  bearing  date  so  late  as  Dec.  20, 
1852,  there  is  a  commencement  of  copious  references 
to  Scripture  on  a  great  diversity  of  subjects,  with  an 
index,  by  means  of  which  any  one  set  of  references 
could  be  turned  to  at  once.  For  instance,  there  is 
the  heading,  "  Nature  :  its  goodness,  beauty,  and 
that  it  is  to  be  enjoyed,  —  Gen.  i.  29,  30  ;  ii.  9,  16  ; 
ix.  1 — 3,  7  ;  xxvii.  28."  "  Recreation,  —  Gen.  ii.  9." 
"Music,  —  Gen.  iv.  21."  "  Art,  —  Gen.  iv.  22." 
"  Agriculture,  —  Gen.  ii.  5,  8,  15  ;  iv.  2,  20  ;  ix.  20." 
"  Prayer,  —  Gen.  xxiv.  63."  Other  subjects,  with 
references  in  the  same  manner,  are,  "  Universal 
Brotherhood,"  "  The  Church,"  "  The  Family,"  «  La 
bor,"  "  Providence,"  "  Wealth,"  "  Festivals,"  "  That 
we  must  obey  God,  even  if  we  displease  man," 
"  That  we  must  do  our  duty,  and  leave  the  conse 
quences  to  God,"  &c.  Almost  all  the  references 
are  in  the  book  of  Genesis  ;  and  it  would  seem  that 
he  had  begun  to  take  the  Bible  in  the  order  of  its 
contents,  and  thus  form  an  index  to  all  topics  of 
prominent  importance  to  his  own  mind. 


HABITS    OF    STUDY.  '441 

Mr.  Judd's  immediate  surroundings  were  of  great 
consequence  to  him  in  his  writing  and  studies.  In 
fitting  up  his  first  study  after  commencing  house 
keeping  in  Augusta,  the  location  affording  nothing 
of  particular  interest  to  look  out  upon,  he  felt  it  a 
need  that  his  windows  should 'be  hung  with  white 
drapery  ;  and  in  its  folds  and  curves,  with  a  little 
patch  of  blue  sky  for  a  background,  he  found  some 
thing  of  the  harmonizing  influence  essential  to  a 
ready  flow  of  his  thought.  When  he  came  to  plan 
a  dwelling  of  his  own,  the  study  was  the  starting- 
point.  It  occupies  the  whole  southern  wing  of  his 
cottage,  having  a  large  bay-window  on  the  south ;  a 
window  to  the  floor,  opening  upon  a  vine-covered 
veranda,  on  the  west ;  and,  opposite  this,  another 
window,  looking  towards  the  sun-rising  and  his 
garden.  It  commands  many  fine  views,  including  a 
sight  of  the  smoothly-flowing  Kennebec  just  below 
his  dwelling  on  the  west,  and  again  stretching  off  and 
disappearing  towards  the  south.  But  this  apartment, 
the  most  pleasant  in  the  house,  was  not  appropriated 
to  himself  exclusively.  He  never  studied  alone.  It 
was  another  essential  point  in  facilitating  his  intel 
lectual  pursuits,  that  he  should  have  his  wife  and 
children  about  him ;  and  therefore  the  study  was 
also  the  sitting-room  for  the  family. 

He  was  always  adding  to  his  library  as  far  as  he 
was  able.  He  accumulated  quite  a  large  number  of 
well-chosen  volumes,  on  a  great  variety  of  subjects, 
many  of  them  rare  and  very  valuable.  In  the  strict 
economy  he  was  obliged  to  observe  in  the  increase 
of  his  library,  he  often  resorted  to  stalls  of  old  books, 


44£  HABITS    OF    STUDY. 

where,  at  reduced  prices,  lie  could  find  works  essen 
tial  to  his  purposes.  In  consequence  of  this,  his 
library,  to  a  considerable  extent,  presents  an  old  and 
well-worn  look. 

A  little  compartment  in  one  of  the  sets  of  book 
cases  was  allotted  to,  the  children  as  a  sort  of  baby- 
house  and  gathering-place  for  toys.  The  study -table 
was  a  unique  contrivance  of  his  own  ingenuity,  con 
structed  with  many  curious  little  conveniences  to 
suit  his  peculiar  fancy. 

He  would  gladly  have  adorned  his  study  with 
busts,  paintings,  and  statuary,  and  felt  it  a  great 
deprivation  that  he  had  not  the  power  to  do  so. 
A  few  handsomely  bound  and  illustrated  volumes 
and  books  of  engravings,  with  here  and  there, 
on  the  walls,  a  framed  engraving,  a  cross  of  moss, 
or  a  few  plaster  casts,  was  all  the  luxury  with  which 
he  could  indulge  his  taste.  The  study  was  a  de 
lightful  place  of  resort,  with  its  beautiful  out -look- 
ings  in  summer,  its  bay-window  plants  and  sunniness 
in  winter,  together  with  the  bright  wood-fire  upon 
the  hearth,  which  was  kindled  chiefly  for  the  pleasure 
of  its  cheerfulness. 

Mr.  Judd  never  was  accustomed  to  study  late  at 
night,  neither  was  he  an  early  riser.  And  yet  his 
nights  were  often  sleepless;  and  in  summer  he 
always  depended  on  getting  a  nap  after  dinner.  He 
took  exercise,  more  or  less,  every  day,  working 
in  his  garden  and  about  his  grounds,  or  walking  to 
different  plaees  about  the  town.  "He  had  a  habit  at 
one  time  of  feeling  that  he  could  write  only  in  his 
shirt-sleeves,  without  any  sort  of  over-garment,  even 


HABITS    OF    STUDY.  443 

in  winter  ;  but  this  he  at  length  gave  up,  and  disci 
plined  himself  to  wear  a  study -gown. 

In  the  preparation  of  his  literary  works,  he  made 
great  use  of  little  note-books,  devoted  exclusively  to 
the  purpose,  in  which  he  put  down  any  thing  that 
came  under  his  observation,  having  a  bearing  upon 
his  object.  In  one  of  these,  the  vocabulary  of  the 
saw -mill,  for  "  Richard  Edney,"  is  taken  down  as 
the  workmen  actually  used  it ;  many  of  the  little 
doings  of  Memmy  and  Bebby,  such  as  "  taking  off 
stockings,  and  running  about  with  their  feet  in  their 
mittens,"  "  each  with  a  chicken's  leg  in  each  hand, 
drumming  on  the  tin  oven,"  &c. 

In  fragmentary  notes,  apparently  for  the  construc 
tion  of  the  lecture  on  the  "  Dramatic  Element  in  the 
Bible,"  the  references  are  exceeding  copious,  embra 
cing  the  "  Edinburgh  Review,"  the  "  North  Ameri 
can  Review,"  Home,  Aristotle,  Hazlitt,  Jameson, 
Hudson,  Heeren,  Terence,  Noyes,  Calmet,  Pathi, 
Johnson,  Lamb,  Gillie,  &c.  &c.,  implying  a  wide 
range  of  research. 

In  notes  for  the  "White  Hills,"  there  stand, 
under  date,  Lake  George,  Aug.  19,  1850,  entries 
like  the  following :  "  Shadow  of  a  mountain  by 
moonlight  in  a  lake,  dark,  cloudlike,  dim ;  "  "  Steamer 
John  Jay  in  the  white  mist  like  a  snow-field."  And 
again,  in  notes  for  this  work  :  "  Dead  hemlocks, 
covered  with  moss  ; "  "  Chimney  standing,  of  a  house 
that  had  decayed  years  before  ; "  "  Deserted  saw 
mill  on  a  green  brook  ;  "  "  Sand-piper  on  the  mar 
gin  of  Lake  George,  feeding  from  the  waves,  follow 
ing,  retreating  ;  "  "  Little  tow-headed  boy  makes  a 


444  HABITS    OF    STUDY. 

bow  ;  "  "  The  basin,  water  emerald-green,  green 
pebbles  at  the  bottom ;  "  "  Silver  cascade  ;  sounds  ; 
deep,  hollow  gurgle ;  also  a  sound  down  the  cas 
cade  as  of  rain,  a  sprinkling  sound.  Three  dead, 
spectral  hemlocks  above  it."  "  The  Notch ;  streak 
of  moonlight  in  streaks."  "  Mount  "Washington  ; 
smoke  rising  like  vapor,  blue  and  pink  tinted,  white 
at  the  bottom.  Black  shadows,  grey  and  blue,  — 
clouds  in  long  bars,  —  smoke  rises  and  droops  like 
an  elm-tree,  purplish  tinge."  "  Church  in  a  pine- 
grove,  near  Bethel."  "  Glen  Ellis,  —  parts  of  moun 
tains  casting  a  distinct  shadow  ;  parts  in  distinct,  well- 
defined  shadow.  Hollows  in  light,  peaks  in  shade, 
long  ridge  in  shade,"  &c.  &c.  Thus  were  these  little 
note-books  filled  up,  showing  Mr.  Judd  the  closest 
student  of  all  the  varied  phenomena  of  nature.  They 
also  contain  lists  of  the  plants  indigenous  to  the 
place,  of  the  birds  and  other  animals ;  and  obser 
vations  on  the  spot  of  every  sort  and  kind,  showing 
his  principle  of  truthfulness  to  nature  and  to  New 
England  in  all  his  works.  In  the  same  connection 
also  are  copious  references  to  histories,  traditions, 
travels,  and  the  like,  proving  with  all  the  rest,  that 
he  was  no  off-hand  writer,  throwing  before  the  pub 
lic  crude  impressions  of  the  moment ;  but  that  every 
thing  was  well  studied  and  matured  in  his  own 
thought  before  being  sent  abroad.  And  it  is  believed 
that  all  this  pains  and  research  gives  to  his  writings 
a  value  unperceived  by  the  cursory  reader ;  but 
which,  as  time  passes  on,  will  cause  them  to  be  more 
and  more  appreciated  by  the  discriminating  student 
of  nature  and  lover  of  truth. 


HABITS    OF    STUDY.  445 

Thus,  with  Mr.  Judd,  was  intellectual,  as  well  as 
moral  and  religious  progress,  an  element  in  which 
he  lived ;  at  all  times  adding  to  his  mental  stores, 
and  taking  in  knowledge  with  a  readiness,  an  ease 
and  quietness,  that  showed  the  capacity  of  his  mind, 
and  the  breadth  of  his  general  culture. 


38 


446 


CHAPTER   XII. 


TEMPERAMENT  AND  GENERAL  CHARACTERISTICS. 


MR.  JUDD'S  physical  organization  was  of  quite  a 
delicate  texture,  with  very  slight  development  of 
muscle.  His  temperament  would  class  under  the 
nervous-sanguine.  His  figure  was  well  set,  and  of 
the  middle  size ;  his  face  between  the  oval  and  the 
round.  His  complexion  was  florid  and  clear ;  his 
eyes  blue ;  his  hair  sandy.  His  head  was  propor- 
tionably  very  large ;  the  forehead  high  and  remarka 
bly  prominent,  rather  overshadowing  the  eyes.  He 
had  a  highly  intellectual  and  kindly  expression ; 
and,  in  various  states  of  emotion  and  excitement, 
when  his  soul  diffused  itself  over  his  countenance,  it 
was  radiant  with  a  refined  and  spiritual  beauty.  The 
engraving  represents  his  face  in  a  state  of  thought 
and  repose,  and  is  more  stern  than  his  usual  look. 
In  conversation  he  had  very  great  play  of  the  fea 
tures.  He  was  never  disposed  to  put  forth  much 
physical  exertion:  indeed,  it  appeared  an  almost 
painful  effort  for  him  to  do  so,  and  he  had  not  much 
power  of  endurance.  If  even  a  slight  illness  assailed 
him,  he  seemed  to  have  very  little  force  of  resist 
ance,  and  experienced  universal  prostration  from 
it.  Yet  his  general  health  was  always  good,  and 


GENERAL    CHARACTERISTICS.  447 

there  appeared  to  be  no  disease  lurking  in  his  sys 
tem. 

His  feelings  were  enthusiastic,  ardent,  deep,  strong ; 
his  susceptibilities  quick  and  tender.  He  never  felt 
any  thing  by  halves,  but  with  him  almost  every  emo 
tion  was  a  passion.  From  this  constitutional  tem 
perament,  he  was  fitted  for  experiencing  the  most 
lively  enjoyment  and  the  keenest  suffering.  A  ner 
vous  system  so  sensitive  is  very  much  at  the  mercy 
of  outward  circumstances.  Feelings,  that  with  those 
of  a  more  phlegmatic  temperament  are  calm  and 
gentle,  seizing  upon  delicately  wrought  nerves  in 
an  easily  excitable  state,  become  pangs  and  daggers, 
and  fearful  are  the  inward  crucifixions  from  which 
the  victim  cannot  escape.  And  then,  to  add  to  the 
intensity  and  poignancy  of  the  sufferings  of  one  so 
constituted,  is  the  consciousness  of  the  fact,  that,  by 
those  around  him  who  have  never  experienced  the 
like  susceptibility,  he  is  misunderstood  and  mis 
judged  ;  that  being  attributed  to  ill-humor  or  bad 
temper  which  is  as  purely  physical  and  beyond  con 
trol  as  the  electric  shock  consequent  upon  seizing  the 
poles  of  a  voltaic  battery. 

This  nervous  phenomenon,  Mr.  Judd  began  to 
experience  at  an  early  age.  The  first  very  promi 
nent  exhibition  of  it  arose  from  the  crossing  of  his 
strong  desire  to  go  steadily  on  in  a  regular  course  of 
study.  Then  came  his  pecuniary  embarrassments  in 
the  prosecution  of  his  education ;  and  last,  and  most 
weightily,  the  wearing  conflict  in  his  theological 
opinions,  which  for  a  long  time  alternated  between 
Calvinism  and  Infidelity,  and  was  ever  attended  by 


448  TEMPERAMENT    AND 

the  anguished  thought  of  the  disappointed  hopes  and 
pious  sorrow  which  the  prospective  termination  of 
the  contest  would  bring  on  those  his  heart  most 
fondly  cherished.  The  painful  result  of  all  this  on 
his  nervous  system  has  been  detailed.  And  although, 
after  his  settlement  at  Augusta,  the  effects,  in  a  great 
measure,  subsided,  yet  still  not  only  did  the  original 
susceptibility  remain,  but  the  torture  which  the 
nerves  had  undergone  so  left  its  impress,  that  they 
ever  readily  suffered  an  excitement  and  irritation 
that  was  beyond  his  control.  The  diverse  manifesta 
tions  arising  from  this  source  were  not  generally 
understood  or  rightly  appreciated  even  by  his  nearest 
friends,  and  much  less  by  those  who  knew  him  not 
intimately. 

One  thing  that  added  to  the  difficulty,  not  only 
so  far  as  others  were  concerned,  but  with  himself 
also,  was  his  great  natural  reserve.  This  was  a 
strongly  marked  family-trait,  which  his  father  and 
grandfather  had  before  him.  He  could  not  explain 
himself;  he  could  .not  even  put  into  the  hands  of 
others  the  key  of  interpretation  to  outward  appear 
ances,  which  he  knew  were  totally  misunderstood 
and  wrongly  judged.  He  never  spoke  of  his  ner 
vous  excitability,  or  the  sufferings  attending  it,  unless 
it  was  wrung  from  him  by  very  peculiar  circum 
stances.  From  various  incidental  remarks  in  his 
note-books  and  journal,  it  is  evident  he  understood 
what  in  himself  seemed  to  his  friends  peculiarities, 
much  better  than  they  were  aware.  He  says  in  one 
instance  :  "  I  have  often  been  desirous  to  speak  to  a 
person  generally  on  some  subject  that  interested  me, 


GENERAL    CHARACTERISTICS.  449 

yet  I  could  not  for  my  life."  Again :  "  If  I  ebb 
and  flow,  my  deep  internal  essence  is  ever  the  same." 
But,  whatever  were  the  ebbings  and  flowings  within, 
his  natural  tendency  was  to  keep  the  tossings  and 
heavings  concealed  in  the  depths  of  his  own  heart, 
and  present  to  others  only  a  tranquil,  equable  exte 
rior.  This,  however,  was  often  beyond  his  power ; 
and  some  unexpected  and  unaccountable  phase  would 
present  itself,  that  rendered  him  an  unsolvable 
enigma,  or  called  forth  condemnatory  remarks,  ac 
cording  as  the  observer  failed  to  have  been  somewhat 
initiated  into  the  intricacies  of  human  nature,  or 
was  uncharitably  disposed.  Not  that  Mr.  Judd  was 
in  the  way  of  manifesting  that  pettishness  which  is 
often  an  attendant  on  such  a  physical  state,  or  that 
he  exhibited  ill  temper  except  very  rarely  and  in  an 
excessively  excitable  condition.  It  was  rather  those 
appearances  which  are  called  odd,  queer,  strange, 
peculiar. 

His  disposition  was  kind  and  sympathizing.  He 
wished  to  see  all  about  him  in  a  happy  state  of  feeling. 
All  deep  Aeartf-eniotions  were  his  familiar  acquaint 
ance  ;  and  with  a  penetrating  sympathy  he  could 
instinctively  detect  and  enter  into  all  sorrows  per 
taining  to  the  affections.  In  "  Richard  Edney  "  he 
speaks  from  personal  experience  when  he  says : 
"There  is  no  trial  so  severe  as  that  of  the  heart. 
There  is  no  furnace  of  affliction  so  hot  as  that  enkin 
dled  in  the  sensibilities.  There  is  no  temptation 
from  which  a  man  had  better  pray  for  quick  deli 
verance  than  that  addressed  to  the  affections  and 
sentiments." 

.    38* 


450  TEMPERAMENT    AND 

For  old  acquaintances  whom  lie  had  not  met  for 
years,  and  with  whom  he  never  enjoyed  any  particu 
lar  intimacy,  he  entertained  kindly  feelings,  though 
perhaps  passed  from  their  remembrance,  and  would 
gladly  give  them  a  genial  greeting.  An  instance 
of  the  kind  is  that  in  "  Richard  Edney,"  where, 
humorously  speaking  of  destroying  the  works  from 
which  he  had  borrowed,  he  refers  so  pleasantly  to 
"  the  assistant-librarian."  A  similar  reference  is 
made  in  the  same  work  to  his  "  respected  college 
rhetorical  professor." 

In  his  expansive  benevolence,  country  j  color,  rank, 
all  melted  away  into  one  universal  brotherhood,  with 
one  loving  God  and  Father  over  all.  Yet,  with  this 
full  tide  of  feeling,  by  some  he  was  considered  selfish 
in  details ;  and  it  must  be  allowed,  that  to  the  obser 
ver  who  did  not  know  him  well,  or  who  had  not  the 
philosophy  to  unravel  the  complicated  secret  motives 
of  action,  there  were  sometimes  exhibitions  that 
might  bear  such  a  construction.  But,  as  the  matter 
lay  in  his  own  heart,  it  is  believed  there  was  no 
ground  for  such  an  imputation. 

He  was  a  man  of  a  remarkably  cheerful  temper. 
He  inclined  to  look  on  the  bright  side  of  things  ; 
and,  even  if  darkness  seemed  to  close  around,  he 
would  always,  here  and  there,  discover  the  illumi 
nated,  the  silver  lining  of  the  clouds  of  life.  In  one 
of  his  letters  occurs  .this  remark  :  "  I  have  often  told 
you  I  am  never  disappointed.  I  am  not  in  common 
things."  His  meaning  was,  not  that  things  always 
turned  out  as  he  might  wish  or  expect,  but  that  he 
was  not  overconfident  in  his  expectation,  and  cheer- 


GENERAL    CHARACTERISTICS.  451 

fully  acquiesced  in  results.  He  had  a  lively  sense 
of  the  ludicrous,  and  often '  discovered  its  elements 
where  nothing  of  the  kind  was  perceived  by  others. 
A  vein  of  humor  constantly  made  itself  felt  in  his 
conversation  and  writings.  His  ideas  often  took  a 
remarkable  juxtaposition,  producing  unexpected  re 
semblances  quite  exciting  to  the  risibles  of  his 
hearers,  when  he  himself  had  no  intention  of  the 
kind.  He  often  introduced  the  keenest  satire  j  but 
it  was  generally  with  a  gravity  that  showed  his 
lamentation  over  the  evil,  rather  than  ill-will  towards 
the  perpetrator. 

He  was  exceedingly  hopeful,  both  as  to  indivi 
duals  and  to  the  race.  He  had  great  confidence  in 
human  nature,  and  believed  the  better  elements  pre 
vailed  by  far  over  the  unworthy  ones.  He  always 
expected  good,  and  not  evil,  from  men ;  and,  in 
regard  to  those  who  had  been  guilty  of  any  wrong 
to  himself  or  to  others,  he  was  ready  to  find  excuse 
for  it, — was  lenient  and  forgiving  to  the  last  degree. 
Many  and  many  a  time,  with  a  peculiar  meekness  of 
demeanor,  has  he  been  heard  to  say,  in  reference  to 
some  one  from  whom  he  had  suffered  an  injury  or  a 
disadvantage,  "  Oh !  well,  he  did  not  mean  it,  he  did 
not  intend  to  do  any  harm,"  or  something  to  this 
effect.  In  some  of  his  writings  this  passage  is  found, 
—  speaking  of  man  in  general :  "  If  there  be  an 
element  of  hope  in  his  case,  I  catch  at  it ;  if  I  know 
nothing  about  him,  I  would  still  hope  for  him ;  if 
there  be  positively  no  ground  for  encouragement,  I 
can  but  shut  my  eyes  to  the  dark  catastrophe.  I 
know,  too,  how  often  in  this  world  that  passes  for  sin 


452  TEMPERAMENT    AND 

which,  is  no  sin,  and  otherwise."  These  expressions 
are  a  most  faithful  transcript  of  his  practice,  and  his 
sense  of  the  dignity  of  human  nature,  as  partaking 
of  the  divine.  He  would  be  cut  to  the  heart  at  any 
seeming  unkindness  from  his  near  friends,  or  those 
he  loved ;  but  he  never  harbored  ill-will,  and  was 
anxious  to  have  it  passed  over  and  forgotten,  as 
though  nothing  had  happened,  as  soon  as  possible  ; 
and  it  pained  him  to  have  allusion  made  to  any 
unpleasantness  that  had  occurred.  He  had  a  great 
aversion  to  fault-finding,  and  could  not  bear  to  see 
people  take  pleasure  in  discussing  the  imperfections 
of  others,  or  in  retailing  scandal. 

Extreme  simplicity  was  a  decided  characteristic 
of  Mr.  Judd  ;  a  trait  which,  perhaps,  to  those  not 
in  habits  of  familiarity  with  him,  was  one  of  his 
most  striking  features.  This  element  was  deeply 
inwrought  in  his  nature  ;  and,  even  in  his  mature 
years,  he  continued  remarkably  childlike  and  unso 
phisticated.  Many  of  the  conventionalities  of  life 
he  could  not  understand  ;  in  many  more  he  could 
see  no  fitness  or  propriety  ;  and,  in  either  case,  he 
could  not  adopt  them.  The  guilelessness  of  his 
own  heart  led  him  to  suspect  none  in  others.  He 
was  upright,  straightforward,  plain,  sincere,  well- 
intentioned  ;  and  he  took  others  to  be  so  too.  If 
he  had  feelings  that  were  right,  in  themselves  con 
sidered,  he  saw  no  necessity  for  concealing  them,  or 
of  suppressing  actions  that  were  based  on  good  and 
honest  motives.  Indeed,  it  never  occurred  to  him 
to  do  so.  He  never  thought  of  it.  It  did  not  dawn 
upon  his  mind  that  it  was  important  to  govern  him- 


GENERAL    CHARACTERISTICS. 


self  by  factitious  rules  ;  to  accord  with,  established 
usages,  by  putting  on  appearances  contrary  to  the 
reality  of  things.  Truthfulness  lay  so  deep  in  his 
nature,  that  he  could  not  see  that  many  of  the  forms 
of  society,  which  in  the  letter  were  untrue,  were  not 
so  in  reality,  because  nobody  was  deceived,  but  all 
received  them  for  just  what  they  were  worth.  He 
had  no  art ;  he  detested  policy  ;  he  could  not  admit 
expediency  as  a  rule  of  action  ;  he  possessed  not 
what  is  understood  by  tact.  Consequently,  in  his 
intercourse  with  society,  to  those  who  did  not  under 
stand  him  he  sometimes  gave  offence  when  least 
suspecting  it.  Persons  would,  perhaps  consider 
themselves  neglected,  ill  used,  or  possibly  insulted, 
when  he  had  no  feelings  but  those  of  perfect  cor 
diality  and  kindness.  By  some  the  developments 
to  which  this  led  were  considered  unaccountable 
strangeness.  And  thus,  while,  if  sifted  to  the  bot 
tom,  this  feature  would  have  been  found  to  grow  out 
of  one  of  the  most  beautiful  elements  of  his  moral 
constitution,  it  often  operated  very  unfavorably  upon 
others,  and  was  the  cause  of  much  mortification  and 
chagrin  to  himself  from  the  misunderstandings  and 
wrong  judgments  to  which  it  exposed  him.  It  must 
be  acknowledged,  however,  that  Mr.  Judd  had 
a  marked  individuality  of  character,  which  was  ap 
parent  in  all  he  said  and  did,  and  which  often  gave 
the  impression  of  oddness  and  eccentricity.  But, 
by  whatever  term  it  may  be  designated,  it  certainly 
grew  out  of  the  greatest  fidelity  to  himself,  and  did 
not  arise  from  any  desire,  or  even  any  consciousness', 
of  being  singular.  It  was  full  of  a  sweetness,  sim- 


454  TEMPERAMENT    AND 

plicity,  and  naivete,  that  gave  interest  and  pungency 
to  his  whole  demeanor. 

While  very  social  in  his  feelings,  he  was  rather 
averse  to  mingling  in  general  society.  His  usual 
range  of  thought  was  upon  subjects  of  an  elevated 
rank ;  and  he  had  not  that  agreeable  fund  of  small 
talk  which  finds  the  best  currency  in  mixed  com 
panies.  His  extreme  sensitiveness  and  nervous 
excitability  were  attended  by  their  usual  concomi 
tants,  —  diffidence  and  want  of  self-possession.  So 
that,  take  him  all  in  all,  he  was  quite  the  antipodes 
of  what  is  generally  understood  by  a  man  of  the 
world.  He  did  not  possess  the  ready  power  of 
adapting  himself  at  will  to  any  circumstances  in 
which  he  might  be  thrown.  He  writes  in  his  Jour 
nal  :  "  I  can  never  be  of  the  world.  I  must  undo 
my  nature  first." 

His  circle  of  acquaintance  with  the  literary  world 
was  much  more  limited  than  that  of  most  persons 
who  hold  as  high  a  rank  in  it  as  he  did.  This  was 
partly  due  to  his  residing  away  from  the  prominent 
centres  of  literary  reunion,  without  adequate  time 
or  means  for  seeking  them ;  and  partly  from  the 
naturally  independent  action  of  his  own  mind,  which 
found  abundant  stimulus  and  food  within  itself. 
Yet  no  one  better  than  he  enjoyed  free  conversation 
in  private  with  one  whose  views,  feelings,  mental 
calibre  and  attainments,  corresponded  with  his  own. 
Then,  with  his  mind  animated  on  some  subject  of 
interest,  the  rich  imagery  of  his  conversation,  the 
fire  and  force  of  his  far-reaching  thought,  his  natural 
quaintness  of  manner,  all  mingled  with  the  full  tide 


GENERAL    CHARACTERISTICS.  455 

of  human  kindness,  —  the  ether  in  which  floated  all 
his  most  brilliant  intellectual  riches,  —  often  charmed 
those  of  the  favored  circle.  In  many  conversations 
of  this  kind,  in  his  own  house,  with  some  visitor  of 
high  culture  and  refined  taste,  groups  of  willing  lis 
teners  have  thought  it  a  privilege  to  sit  by  in  silence ; 
or  perhaps  felt  justified,  in  an  unobtrusive  way,  in 
playing  something  of  the  eavesdropper  in  passages 
or  veranda  in  connection  with  the  apartment  of  con 
versation.  His  table-talk,  under  similar  circum 
stances,  would,  it  is  believed,  not  suffer  in  compari 
son  with  some  of  the  best  of  this  kind  that  has  been 
given  to  the  world. 

A  travelling  companion  of  Mr.  Judd,  on  his  return 
from  the  Baltimore  Convention,  writes :  "  It  was 
our  privilege  to  listen  to  his  rich  discourse  for  an 
hour  or  two  ;  and  the  memory  of  his  racy  talk,  with 
its  brilliant  and  apt  illustrations,  tender  and  loving 
spirit,  engrossing  sincerity,  is  like  the  memory  of 
some  scene  full  of  fresh  novelty,  radiant  with  light, 
and  vocal  with  wild,  sweet  music.  There  was  a 
union  of  the  ideal  and  the  practical,  the  play  of 
a  poetic  imagination  over  the  solidity  of  good  sense, 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  lofty-souled  visionary  flashing 
out  amidst  the  sober  counsels  of  a  useful  every-day 
wisdom,  that  made  his  conversation,  on  that  calm, 
serene  night,  exceedingly  beautiful,  winning,  and 
suggestive." 

In  his  intellectual  capacities,  he  had  great  quick 
ness  of  perception,  and  a  readiness  and  ease  in 
receiving  knowledge.  He  could  take  in  a  long 
range  of  thought  without  confusion ;  and  at  unfami- 


456  TEMPERAMENT    AND 

liar  or  strange  ideas  lie  was  not  frightened.  Though 
to  others  it  seemed  that  his  memory  was  faithful  and 
ready,  he  himself  complained  that  it  did  not  serve 
him  well.  His  associations  were  apt  to  be  based 
upon  delicate  resemblances,  unnoticed  and  unthought 
of  by  the  common  observer.  Imagination  in  him 
was  bold  and  strong,  altogether  prevailing  over 
fancy.  To  him,  almost  every  thing  he  looked  upon 
was  endowed  with  life ;  and  his  use  of  figurative 
language  was  abundant.  Though  often  exercising 
wit,  humor  in  general  had  the  ascendancy. 

He  might  be  said  to  have  equally  exercised  the 
subjective  and  objective  powers  of  his  mind.  He 
was  accustomed  to  much  introversion.  His  private 
writings  show  close  self-inspection.  He  grew  from 

0 

within,  outward ;  and  also,  by  the  reverse  process, 
from  without,  inward.  If  his  observation  was  nice 
and  continual,  his  self-reflection  kept  pace  with  it. 

To  him,  the  outer  as  well  as  his  inner  world 
was  a  living  presence.  Nature  was  to  him  the  reve 
lation  and  embodiment  of  Divinity  itself.  In  her 
motherly  arms  she  seemed  to  enfold  him.  On  her 
kind  bosom  he  could  throw  himself  for  solace  and 
refreshment.  If  .he  was  sick,  she  was  his  tender 
nurse  ;  if  saddened,  her  pure  and  gentle  mini 
stries  would  gladden  and  restore  him  to  himself. 
He  walked  with  her  as  with  a  friend  ;  he  wooed  her 
as  a  lover ;  and  no  phase  of  her  appearance,  no  fea 
ture  of  her  forms,  escaped  his  attention.  Her  many- 
tinted  hues,  her  polyphonian  voices,  were  all  familiar 
to  his  eye  and  hear.  He  also  studied  nature  as  a 
science.  But  here  he  did  not  stop.  This  was  not 


GENERAL    CHARACTERISTICS.  457 

an  end,  but  only  a  means  of  introducing  him  into  the 
secrets  of  the  natural  world,  revealing  more  fully  its 
latent  beauties,  and  thus  preparing  him  for  those 
minute,  truthful,  graphic  descriptions  for  which  he 
was  remarkable. 

His  own  soul  was  delicately  sensitive  to  the 
beautiful ;  and,  among  its  infinite  forms  in  nature, 
few  escaped  his  notice.  He  discovered  it  in  rich 
abundance,  where  the  ordinary  observer  perceived 
nothing  but  simple  form  and  color.  "Something," 
he  says,  "  like  what  we  are  pleased  to  term  infinite 
moment,  hangs  on  this  thing,  —  the  beautiful.  I 
can  say,  happy  indeed  are  they  who  have  loved  the 
beautiful  from  childhood,  clung  to  it  with  a  devoted 
will  through  after-life,  and  who  prize  it  as  a  talis- 
manic  gem  wherewith  to  open  the  gates  of  truth; 
prize  it,  too,  as  a  serene  light  from  heaven  on  their 
earthly  pilgrimage."  His  mind  naturally  tended  to 
make  each  object  accordant  with  its  surroundings ; 
and  thus,  in  his  writings,  he  would  group  in  harmo 
nious  blendings  to  his  own  eye,  what,  to  another, 
would  sometimes  seem  harsh  and  incongruous. 
Unable  to  see  ugliness  and  deformity  in  the  natural, 
to  him  the  picturesque  was  easily  attainable.  Re 
semblances  and  relations,  far  from  obvious  to  the 
common  mind,  were  to  him  readily  suggested.  The 
wintry  appearance  of  the  dark,  leafless  boughs  and 
twigs  of  the  tall  trees  look  to  him  "  like  bold,  deli 
cate  netting  or  linear  embroidery  on  the  blue  sky ;  or 
as  if  the  trees,  interrupted  in  their  usual  method  of 
growth,  were  taking  root  in  mid- winter  up  among  the 
warm  transparent  heavens."  Every  thing  with  him 

39 


458  TEMPERAMENT    AND 

was  sentient.  The  snow  "  fell  soft  and  even  upon 
shrubs  and  flowers  in  the  woods,  as  if  it  were  tenderly 
burying  its  dead."  The  influences  of  nature  seemed 
almost  essential  to  his  devotional  feelings.  He  said 
of  himself,  when  walking  in  the  city  at  a  certain 
time,  under  a  hot  sun,  upon  scorching  pavements, 
brick  walls  on  either  side,  and  no  tree  or  spire  of 
grass  for  the  eye  to  rest  upon,  that  he  "  felt  as  though 
he  had  lost  his  religion,"  and  must  needs  go  out  to 
Haerlem  to  see  the  grass  and  hear  the  birds. 

To  the  readers  of  his  works,  and  to  those  who  have 
listened  to  his  public  discourses  or  his  conversa 
tions,  it  is  not  necessary  to  enlarge  on  this  element  of 
his  character.  The  balmy  breath  of  nature  is  emit 
ted  from  almost  every  page  of  his  writings.  The 
woods  and  wild  flowers  contribute  their  fragrance. 
Birds  blend  their  carols  with  the  joyous  spring-notes 
of  softly -murmuring  streams  and  gurgling  brooklets. 
Soft,  snowy  clouds  move  in  still  grandeur  and 
beauty  over  the  serene  blue  above,  like  convoys  of 
the  blest,  in  watchful  guardianship  over  each  human 
soul.  And,  to  crown  all,  the  great  and  good  Father 
of  the  whole  universe  lives  and  reveals  himself  in 
every  thing  his  power  produces,  the  least  as  well 
as  the  most  immense  ;  in  the  humblest  flower  and 
tiniest  insect,  as  well  as  in  the  vast  worlds  and  sys 
tems  which  gem  and  solemnize  the  skies  of  night. 

He  was  fond  of  contemplating  Christ  as  conversant 
and  identified  with  nature ;  as  symbolizing  himself 
and  his  cause  under  figures  such  as  the  vine  and  the 
mustard-seed ;  drawing  his  illustrations  from  the 
lilies  of  the  field,  the  birds  of  the  air,  fields  ready  for 


GENERAL    CHARACTERISTICS.  459 

harvest,  serpents,  doves,  water,  stars,  and  light.  A 
beautiful  illustration  of  his  view  of  Christ  in  connec 
tion  with  nature  is  found  in  a  sermon  upon  the  sub 
ject,  from  the  text,  "  Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field." 
In  concluding  the  discourse  he  says  :  "  Christ  was  a 
lover  of  nature ;  he  entered  into  its  spirit,  he  repro 
duced  its  forms,  he  spoke  in  its  language.  There  is 
no  department  he  overlooked ;  vegetables,  animals, 
minerals,  the  wind  and  rains,  lightning,  the  orbs 
above  us,  —  into  every  domain  of  creation  he  en 
tered. 

"  And  how  did  he  do  this  ?  Not  as  an  economist, 
or  a  speculator  or  surveyor ;  but  as  a  child  of  the 
infinite  Father,  communing  with  the  works  of  his 
hand,  in  the  love  of  beauty  and  the  spirit  of  faith. 
He  walked  by  the  sea-side,  he  traversed  woods,  to 
derive  lessons  for  the  souls  he  was  to  save,  and  a 
method  for  that  kingdom  he  came  to  establish." 

Art,  as  well  as  nature,  was  to  Mr.  Judd  a  study 
and  delight ;  and  the  relations  of  the  one  to  the 
other  he  loved  to  trace.  "  Trees,"  he  says,  in 
"  Richard  Edney,"  "  considered  as  an  avenue  for 
the  eye  to  traverse,  enhance  the  beauty  of  objects  at 
the  end  of  it.  The  reader  has  looked  through  trees 
at  water  or  the  sky,  and  witnessed  this  effect.  Na 
ture,  like  art,  seems  to  require  a  border  in  order  to 
be  finished.  The  dressmaker  hems  and  ruffles  ;  the 
carpenter  has  his  beads  and  pilasters ;  the  painter 
never  rests  till  his  piece  is  framed.  ...  If  we  should 
say  nature  loves  a  bordering,  as  it  used  to  be  said 
she  abhorred  a  vacuum,  we  might  state  the  whole 
truth.  An  uninterrupted  plane  ;  a  continuity  of 


460  TEMPERAMENT    AND 

similar  surface,  vast,  monotonous,  silent,  —  is  into 
lerable.  So  a  column  must  have  its  cap,  and  a  house 
its  cornice  ;  so  along  the  highway  spring  innumerable 
flowers,  and  on  its  margin  the  forest  is  lavish  of  its 
foliage ;  so  the  sea  is  terminated  by  the  sky ;  and 
we  look  at  the  sky  through  vistas  of  embanked 
and  woofy  cloud.  Were  you  ever  in  a  fine  grove  of 
a  bright  moonlight  night?  How  different  from, 
standing  Upon  a  mountain  at  such  a  time  !  "We 
recommend  to  any  on  an  eminence  to  go  back  from 
the  brink  thereof,  and  stand  in  the  forest,  and  look 
out  through  the  breaks  and  crevices.  A  moss-rose 
is  an  instance  in  point,  beautiful  because  it  is  bor 
dered  :  it  is  a  landscape  seen  through  trees.  A 
house  in  the  midst  of  shrubbery  is  an  instance ;  so 
are  islands  in  a  pond;  a  view  through  half-raised 
window-curtains,  and  distant  scenery  through  a  long 
suite  of  rooms ;  so  are  light  on  foregrounds,  and 
shadows  on  backgrounds,  in  all  pictures.  Glens, 
valleys,  a  flower  in  the  grass,  a  star  in  the  sky,  belong 
to  the  same  category.  So  did  Memmy  and  Bebby, 
at  this  present  speaking ;  they  were  bordered  by 
trees  ;  cedars  and  birches  were  about  them,  like 
curls  on  the  face  of  fair  maiden.  .  .  .  Then,  in  this 
case,  the  children  were  on  the  go,  while  the  border 
ing  kept  still;  they  were  the  picture,  dancing  up 
and  down  in  its  frame;  they  were  the  blue  sky, 
crisping  and  rippling  behind  the  clouds. 

"  Lo !  now  Bebby  stands  between,  and  partly 
screened  by,  two  little  cedars,  about  as  tall  as  she ; 
and  how  beautiful  she  is !  She  is  a  moss-rose ;  a 
rose  mossed,  bordered.  Bebby  runs  away.  Bebby 


GENERAL    CHARACTERISTICS.  461 

is  the  same  Bebby ;  the  trees  are  the  same  trees ; 
but  how  different  apart !  The  rose  has  lost  its  moss, 
the  view  its  border.  Run  back,  little  additament ! 
Throw  yourself  into  the  middle  of  the  picture,  or 
what  will  be  a  picture  when  you  get  there  !  Consent 
to  be  bordered.  Those  happy  blue  eyes,  those  floc- 
culent,  foamy  locks,  —  were  they  ever  so  pretty  ? 
The  pea-green,  crinkly  little  cedars,  —  what  enchant 
ment  they  suddenly  assume  !  How  the  beauty  flashes 
from  one  to  the  other,  and  centres  in  the  whole ! 
How  it  vanishes  when  Bebby  quits  ! " 

For  paintings  and  sculpture,  Mr.  Judd  had  great 
taste  and  appreciation,  and  a  very  well-cultivated 
judgment.  He  would  study  by  the  hour  a  single 
piece  of  real  merit,  and  his  criticisms  were  highly 
discriminating.  In  the  tragedy  of  the  "  White  Hills," 
before  quoted  from,  among  other  remarks  upon  art, 
in  conversation  with  the  artist,  he  makes  Normand 
say :  — 

"  If  spirit  shrinks,  as  from  a  hand  profane, 
Paint  depth,  with  breadth  and  distance  too,  the  forma 
Of  universal,  omnipresent  life, 
Nor  wall  up  surfaces.    Why  ever  work 
In  side-views,  as  if  nature  had  no  front, 
And  man  were  only  lateral-jointed,  like 
A  dancing-jack  1     Canst  thou  not  handle  night, 
And  shades  as  black  as  night,  that  lie 
Along  the  wooded  margin  of  a  lake1? 
Or  space  project,  and  pebbles  sink  in  water1? 
Ye  study  attitude,  geometry, 
The  starts  of  tragedy,  what  warm,  what  cold ; 
You  ilk  have  murdered  men  to  see  them  die; 
Spurning  Dione  smiling  through  the  trees. 
Hast  seen  the  spirit,  —  make  it  felt 
In  what  thou  dost,  the  visible,  invisible." 
39* 


462  TEMPERAMENT    AND 

He  sometimes  tried  his  own  hand  at  modelling,  in 
the  clay  about  his  house,  grotesque  busts  for  the 
amusement  of  his  children.  He  had  great  sympathy 
with  artists,  and  wished  that,  in  this  country,  they 
might  find  more  appreciation  and  encouragement. 
It  was  a  matter  of  regret  to  him,  that  our  Puritan 
fathers,  in  their  zeal  to  do  away  with  existing  abuses, 
so  entirely  rejected  all  art,  and  laid  no  foundation 
for  its  cultivation  in  this  country. 

He  sought  as  much  as  possible  to  encourage  art 
among  his  people.  In  the  construction  of  his  own 
house,  and  the  embellishing  of  his  grounds,  in  which 
every  tree  was  set  with  regard  to  effect,  his  own 
sense  of  beauty  and  art  is  embodied  as  far  as  his 
means  would  allow. 

In  mechanical  operations  he  had  considerable 
skill,  and  had  a  great  fondness  for  getting  up  pe 
culiar  little  contrivances  that  nobody  else  would 
think  of. 

For  music  Mr.  Judd  had  a  great  love.  He  was 
very  sensitive  to  its  power.  It  affected  him  deeply. 
Yet  he  was  unable  to  produce  it  himself.  Musical 
tones  coursed  through  him  like  wind  through  the 
trees ;  or,  rather,  his  frame  vibrated  under  their  in 
fluence.  It  seemed  to  be  pure  musical  tone  mostly 
that  affected  him  ;  for  he  did  not  always  definitely 
distinguish  one  air  from  another.  In  a  letter  to  his 
wife,  dated  October,  1852,  he  writes :  "  As  to  music, 
'tis  not  all  ( association,'  'tis  partly  the  severe  requisi 
tions  of  my  own  mind,  'tis  the  despotism  of  a  fine 
art  within  me,  that  moves  me."  Much  of  the  soul 
of  music  is  shadowed  forth  in  Chilion,  and  the  moral 


GENERAL    CHARACTERISTICS.  463 

influence  of  his  violin,  with  which  also  the  poor  boy 
said  he  had  done  all  his  praying. 

Among  all  Mr.  Judd's  prominent  characteristics, 
his  religious  tendency  was  the  most  striking.  Reli 
gion  was  to  him  the  first  thing  and  the  last ;  it 
pervaded  his  whole  life  ;  it  was  to  him  all  in  all.  A 
sense  of  duty,  a  sense  of  right,  was  ever  his  govern 
ing  motive.  So  strong  was  this  feeling,  he  never 
seemed  to  have  any  temptation  even  to  make  com 
promises  with  his  conscience  ;  and  conscience  was 
the  ever-ready  arbiter  in  his  decisions.  His  principle 
was  to  obey  God  at  all  earthly  hazards  ;  to  perform 
duty,  and  leave  the  consequences  to  God.  In  the 
language  of  another,  "The  struggle  of  his  heart 
was  not  to  embrace  heaven  and  earth  by  turns,  and 
thus  turn  both  to  the  ashes  of  despair ;  but,  wherever 
earthly  love  came  in  conflict  with  the  heavenly,  the 
former  was  always  sacrificed  to  the  latter.  He  sought 
rather  to  heavenize  earthly  love  ;  to  make  it  a  part 
of  the  spiritual  perfection  and  joy  of  man's  earthly 
state.  Most  touching  was  the  sad  music  of  his 
spirit,  when  the  triumphing  of  the  heavenly  claim 
upon  its  powers  was  heard  simultaneously  with 
broken-hearted  love  and  expiring  passion."  In  the 
preceding  narrative,  there  has  often  been  occasion  to 
refer  to  his  reverence  for  truth,  and  his  own  corre 
sponding  truthfulness  of  character.  Love  to  God 
and  to  man,  as  has  often  appeared  in  these  pages, 
was  the  key-note  of  his  being  ;  it  was  the  sum  and 
substance,  the  foundation-stone,  of  his  religion.  He 
labored  for  the  happiness,  the  elevation,  the  moral 
purity,  of  the  race.  This  benevolent  principle  in 


464  TEMPERAMENT    AND 

him  had  no  bounds.  To  the  sorrowing  and  afflicted 
he  had  words  of  cheer,  even  "when  his  own  heart 
was  sinking  under  some  oppression. 

Great  earnestness  was  a  quality  for  which  he  was 
conspicuous.  It  was  seen  in  the  prosecution  of 
whatever  he  undertook  ;  especially  was  it  developed 
in  carrying  out  his  fond  idea  of  the  birthright 
church.  At  the  association  in  Belfast,  when  that 
subject  was  under  consideration,  something  was  said 
about  a  want  of  earnestness  in  the  ministry ;  he  said 
he  acknowledged  no  such  want ;  and,  as  one  who 
heard  him  says,  "in  a  manner  that  took  from  his 
words  all  appearance  of  presumption,"  he  added, 
"  I  have  as  much  earnestness  as  I  want ;  as  much 
as  I  can  carry."  There  was  in  him  a  constant 
vitality  of  thought,  and  a  firmness  and  independence 
in  acting  up  to  his  honest  convictions. 

He  had  great  humility  of  mind ;  never  manifested 
an  undue  estimate  of  himself,  or  made  others  feel 
that  he  claimed  superiority  over  them,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  was  exceedingly  unpretending,  unassuming, 
and  innately  modest  in  the  highest  degree.  In  a 
letter  previously  given,  referring  to  his  part  in  the 
movements  of  the  Unitarian  Church  in  Maine,  and 
urging  others  to  go  forward,  he  says,  "  I  am  tired  of 
so  much  personality." 

His  resignation  under  trial,  the  quiet  submission 
with  which  he  bowed  to  the  dispensations  of  Provi 
dence,  was  one  of  the  strongest  and  most  beautifully 
marked  features  of  his  religious  character.  Christ 
was  ever  his  pattern  and  guide  ;  to  be  like  Christ, 
the  standard  from  which  there  was  no  appeal.  His 


GENERAL    CHARACTERISTICS.  465 

life  was  far  above  the  range  of  trivial,  earthly  things : 
it  seems  not  too  much  to  say,  with  the  apostle,  that 
it  was  "  hid  with  Christ  in  God."  Not  that  it  is 
claimed  that  he  was  perfect,  or  free  from  faults  ;  yet 
no  one  who  comprehended  him  fully,  or  knew  him 
intimately,  could  fail  to  see  that  his  governing  prin 
ciples  were  high  and  holy,  and  that  they  permeated 
every  department  of  life  and  of  human  interest. 
He  acted  from  principle  in  all  things,  even  to  the. 
patronizing  of  home-mechanics  and  artisans,  though 
perhaps  a  little  at  the  expense  of  appearance.  Those 
who  knew  him  best,  —  his  family-friends,  the  wit 
nesses  of  his  most  unreserved  daily  life,  —  while  by 
no  means  blind  to  his  imperfections,  could  not  fail 
to  venerate  the  moral  purity  of  his  character ;  to 
feel  that  it  was  indeed  Christ-like. 

He  lived  near  to  God  in  the  communion  of  his 
spirit.  God  was  to  him  a  loving  Father,  an  ever- 
present  Friend.  Devotion  was  the  habit  of  his 
mind,  the  repose  of  his  spirit.  It  was  deeper  than 
words  ;  it  was  higher  than  outward  forms  ;  it  was 
not  governed  by  times  and  seasons.  God  was  in 
connection  with  all  his  thoughts.  As  he  walked  by 
the  way,  he  worshipped.  He  once  let  fall  the  re 
mark  to  a  young  friend,  on  walking  across  the  lot 
from  his  house  to  that  of  his  father-in-law,  —  "  This 
is  my  prayer-ground  :  there  is  Malta  Woods  on  one 
side,  the  river  on  the  other,  the  heavens  above." 
He  had  not  that  high,  ecstatic  religious  enjoyment 
which  some  have  experienced.  It  was  not  so  much 
rejoicing  as  great  inward  trust,  submission,  peace. 


466  GENERAL   CHARACTERISTICS. 

It  was,  in  short,  the  feeling  of  at-one-ment  of 
self  with  God. 

Such  are  some  of  the  salient  points  of  Mr.  Judd's 
character.  But,  as  manifest  in  him,  they  were  so 
mixed  and  blended  as  to  produce  an  indescribable 
uniqueness,  which  no  one  could  fail  to  perceive 
from  the  briefest  acquaintance  with  the  man  or  his 
writings.  With  the  most  profound  seriousness  of 
..thought  was  an  easy  play  of  natural  humor.  In  his 
extreme  rectitude  of  principle,  there  was  nothing 
stern  :  his  Christian  graces  melted  into  the  common 
est  affairs  of  daily  life.  Firm  and  independent,  he 
was  neither  self-consequent  nor  overbearing.  Ever 
genial  in  his  feelings,  he  was  often  reserved  in  out 
ward  manner.  Refined  in  taste,  and  keenly  alive 
to  the  beautiful,  there  was  often  something  of  gro- 
tesqueness  in  his  combinations.  Self-reliant,  he  was 
not  presumptive.  He  did  not  display  the  different 
features  of  his  character  by  turns,  but,  as  it  were, 
was  each  and  all  at  the  same  moment;  bringing, 
by  some  secret  sense  of  unity  best  understood  by 
himself,  seeming  discrepancies  to  meet  in  the  same 
thought  and  action.  The  lights  and  shades  blended 
and  flickered,  and  were  lost  in  each  other  in  in 
tangibility  in  his  actual  existence  ;  yet  every  thing 
held  its  own,  went  on,  attained  its  end.  And  thus 
naive,  unique,  he  stood  out  in  bold  relief  in  his  own 
individuality,  —  himself,  and  no  one  else. 


467 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


DOMESTIC     RELATIONS. 


IN  the  current  history  of  Mr.  Judd's  life,  which 
has  already  been  given,  much  has  appeared  illustra 
tive  of  his  general  tendencies  of  a  domestic  kind. 
But  home,  its  relations,  its  affections,  its  manifold 
interests,  held  a  place  so  vital  in  his  heart,  and  had 
so  much  to  do  with  the  very  essence  of  his  life,  that 
justice  to  the  subject  seems  to  require  it  should 
receive  a  separate  notice. 

The  family-state  held  so  high  a  place  in  his  esti 
mation  as  to  prompt  the  following  expression  in  one 
of  his  sermons :  "  I  believe  it  is  a  greater  sin  to 
neglect  the  family  than  to  neglect  the  church.  Much 
as  I  love  the  church,  and  there  are  none  who  love  it 
more,  if  either  institution  must,  from  any  sad  neces 
sity  suffer,  let  the  blow  fall  upon  the  church  rather 
than  the  family." 

The  homes  of  his  childhood  and  youth  were  pre 
cious  to  him,  even  in  their  localities.  The  old  place 
in  Westhampton  he  always  loved  to  revisit;  and 
his  fond  childhood's  associations  invested  even  its 
barren  hills  with  beauty  and  attractiveness.  North 
ampton,  his  later  home,  had  ever  with  him  some 
thing  paradisiacal  in  its  charms ;  and  a  sight  of  its 


468  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

old,  familiar  objects  never  failed  to  swell  his  heart 
almost  with  rapture. 

All  along  through  his  life  at  college  and  the  divi 
nity-school,  home  was  the  centre  of  his  thoughts, 
and  there  his  affections  were  garnered  up.  He 
looked  forward  to  his  vacations  with  longing  desire 
to  find  himself  again  encircled  by  his  own  kindred. 
His  letters  were  frequent  in  the  intervals  of  separa 
tion,  and  were  mostly  addressed  to  his  mother,  who, 
though  her  health  was  always  poor,  was  yet,  by  her 
energy  and  resolution,  the  secret  spring  and  life  of 
the  family-arrangements  and  comforts.  With  the 
children,  in  their  later  as  well  as  earlier  years,  no 
thing  was  deemed  impossible  with  "  mother."  If  the 
problem  was  to  renovate  the  wardrobe,  it  was  she 
who  could  make  the  "  auld  claes  look  amaist  as  weel's 
the  new  ;  "  if  to  make  the  most  of  a  little,  she  it  was 
who  could  do  it.  No  one  was  so  untiring  as  she, 
in  season  and  out  of  season,  in  attending  to  the  needs 
of  her  children,  and  administering  to  their  pleasure. 
Her  taste  and  refinement  of  feeling  were  ever  a 
stimulus  to  them  to  aspire  after  the  best  things. 
They  were  always  sure  of  her  disinterestedness  and 
self-sacrifice  in  contributing  to  their  happiness.  They 
confided  in  her  as  a  friend ;  they  revered  her  as  a 
mother ;  they  venerated  her  as  a  Christian. 

In  no  one  of  her  children  were  these  sentiments 
stronger  than  in  Sylvester.  They  were  indeed  at 
tended  with  a  peculiar  glow  in  his  breast,  and  were 
connected  with  all  that  was  most  tender  in  his  na 
ture. 

His  father  was  always  social,  loving  to  discuss  all 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  469 

sorts  of  matters  with  his  children.  His  study  into 
men  and  things  had  been  extensive ;  his  judgments 
were  usually  well  founded ;  and  from  his  fund  of 
knowledge  and  experience,  useful  and  interesting 
lessons  were  always  to  be  learned.  And,  on  his 
part,  he  was  glad  to  draw  out  from  his  children 
whatever  they  had  acquired  from  study  and  observa 
tion  in  their  wanderings  from  the  paternal  roof.  For 
him  his  children  entertained  great  respect  and  an 
honest  pride ;  and  between  him  and  them  existed  a 
deep  affection. 

The  children  were  bound  to  each  other  by  the 
strongest  ties.  In  the  drama  of  the  "  White  Hills," 
Sylvester  says :  — 

"  It  sometimes  seems  as  all  the  milk 
Of  human  kindness  went  to  brotherhood," 

And  no  one  but  those  who  knew  him  intimately  can 
understand  how  truly  these  lines  express  his  own 
heart,  his  own  experience.  In  1838  he  writes : 
"  Every  day  adds  to  the  strong  interest  that  attaches 
me  to  my  brothers."  And  in  his  Journal,  March, 
1840,  stands  this  record :  "  A  letter  from  brother 
C.  P.  How  precious  are  ye  to  me,  my  brothers,  one 
and  all !  May  Heaven  keep  us  holy !  "  Yet  there 
were  no  peculiar  outward  demonstrations  of  affection, 
unless  particular  occasions  drew  them  forth ;  and  a 
stranger  might  not  readily  have  detected  any  great 
warmth  of  fraternal  sentiment. 

Such  were  the  elements  which  made  up  the  home 
of  Sylvester's  younger  years  and  his  early  manhood. 
It  was  in  these  home-gatherings  that  he  always 

40 


470  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

longed  to  be  one,  when  he  was  away  pursuing  his 
studies.  It  was  hither  his  frequent  epistles  were 
sent.  It  was  to  those  dwelling  here  that  the  injunc 
tion  was  so  often  penned,  "  "Write, "  "  Write  soon !  " 
And,  after  completing  his  professional  studies,  the 
prominent  objection  to  settling  in  Augusta  was  its 
remoteness  from  his  kindred.  Established  there, 
and  taking  his  place  in  the  world  as  a  man  on  his 
own  footing,  as  a  child  he  sighed  for  a  place  at 
his  mother's  table,  on  occasion  of  the  time-honored 
and  tenderly  associated  festival  of  Thanksgiving,  and 
had  the  secret  feeling  that  it  was  hard  to  stay  and 
make  Thanksgiving  for  other  people,  and  have  none 
himself;  that  is,  none  that  anwered  to  his  old,  fond 
ideas  of  a  Thanksgiving,  which  are  so  well  pictured 
in  the  letter  which  follows,  addressed  — 

To   HIS    MOTHER. 

"  CAMBRIDGE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY,  Nov.  28,  1837. 

"  Dear  Mother,  —  This  letter  will  find  you  in  the 
midst  of  the  festivities  of  Thanksgiving.  I  send  it, 
and  it  is  all  I  can  send.  I  wish  I  could  be  at  home 
myself  to  participate  in  the  delights  of  this,  our 
most  joyful  anniversary.  But  I  must  be  content  to 
remain  here  alone.  Yes,  alone  ;  for  almost  all  of 
our  students  are  going  to  their  respective  homes. 
Our  halls  will  be  deserted  ;  and  my  joys  will  return 
upon  me  in  pain,  and  my  thanks,  I  fear,  will  be 
mingled  with  something  of  discontent. 

"A.  introduces  quite  a  luscious  break  in  A.  H.'s 
last  letter,  and  presents  a  tempting  account  of  new 
cider,  pumpkin-pies,  &c.  She  came  upon  the  stage 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  471 

before  it  was  a  sin  to  quaff  the  pure  juice  of  the 
apple.  The  man  who  invented  the  sin  of  a  cider- 
draught  ought  to  be  compelled  to  drink  and  feed  on 
bran-bread  and  water  all  his  days.  Who  will  write 
the  history  of  New  England's  cider  ?  —  or  the  tale 
of  the  last  cider-drinker  ?  Thanksgiving  was  always 
a  favored  time.  Freegiving  would  be  a  better  name. 
Great  times  we  used  to  have  at  Grandpa  Judd's  at 
Thanksgiving.  There  were  good  eating,  and  good 
drinking,  and  good  feeling.  There  was  the  mug  of 
flip  too.  I  remember  it  well.  Father  thinks  I  am 
a  little  beset  with  a  spiritual  nature.  Yet  those 
were  glorious  times.  They  are  gone.  Their  vision 
glimmers  among  the  things  that  were.  A.  and 

H i  and  P n  have  no  remembrances  of  this 

sort.  Their  recollections  will  only  cluster  about 
their  own  father's  festive  board.  May  these  ever 
be  to  them  cherished,  sweet,  pure,  holy !  .  .  .  .  A.  H. 
says  the  old  carpet  is  on  the  parlor-floor.  I  would 
give  a  thousand  times  more  to  see  it  next  Thursday, 
with  the  table  full  of  papers,  and  the  old  trunk, 
than  to  see  the  finest  Brussels  and  the  nicest  maho 
gany  of  Boston.  Home  is  home,  you  know,  though 
ever  so  homely.  My  home  is  decidedly  character 
ized  as  respects  its  exterior.  Yet  I  love  you  nor  it 
none  the  less. 

"I  want  to  be  with  you.  Think  a  little  of  the 
absent  ones.  C.  P.  and  I  must  take  our  meals  in 
somewhat  of  sadness.  Say  a  good  word  for  us  ; 
wish  us  well.  Say  you  wish  C.  P.  could  have  such 
a  piece  at  dinner,  and  I  such  a  bit,  and  how  you 
wish  we  were  there,  and  'twill  do  us  good. 


472  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

"  You  "will  be  thankful  for  blessings  received,  and 
ills  prevented.  I  have  hurried  through  this  sheet 
at  a  galloping  rate,  which  must  account  for  incohe 
rence.  I  felt  as  if  I  must  say  something.  'Twas 
'  like  a  fire  shut  up  in  my  bones.'  I  feel  as  if  it 
was  almost  a  sin  not  to  be  at  home  Thanksgiving. 
But  I  must  make  the  best  of  it.  You  know  that  I 
have  not  kept  it  at  home  but  once  for  five  years." 

To  a  friend,  about  this  time,  he  remarked  that  he 
trembled  all  over,  every  letter  he  got  from  home, 
and  hardly  dared  to  break  the  seal,  lest  it  brought 
the  news  that  to  his  father,  his  mother,  or  some  one 
of  the  family,  evil  had  happened.  After  he  had  a 
family  of  his  own,  the  same  fond  desire  for  the 
parental  home  continued.  Visits  to  it  were  looked 
forward  to  as  a  consummated  happiness,  and  were 
repeated  as  frequently  as  circumstances  would  allow. 
In  a  Thanksgiving  sermon,  of  which  the  subject 
is  "  Home,"  this  passage  occurs  :  —  "  We  can  be 
free  there.  We  can  throw  off  the  dress  of  the 
street  and  the  manners  of  society.  A  man  is  not 
obliged  to  conceal  his  headache,  and  he  can  give 
vent  to  his  own  feelings,  when  he  enters  his  house. 
One  is  not  a  merchant  or  a  doctor  or  a  lawyer  at 
home.  There  is  one  place  in  the  world  where  even 
a  clergyman  can  be  a  boy  again  ;  and  that  is  his 
father's  house.  His  father  calls  him  by  his  first 
name,  and  his  mother  asks  him  to  bring  in  an  arm 
ful  of  wood.  There  is  throwing  off  of  care,  and 
rejection  of  conventionality,  at  home,  and  yielding 
one's  self  to  nature,  and  slippers,  and  loose  gown." 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  473 

The  first  severing  of  the  tie  which  bound  Sylves 
ter  so  closely  with  each  and  all  the  members  of  his 
father's  family  was  the  removal  from  tangible  inter 
course,  in  the  year  1850,  of  his  brother  H 1, 

a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  of  the  greatest  purity 
of  character,  of  a  singularly  devout  life,  the  utmost 
resignation  to  the  will  of  Heaven,  and  with  faith 
in  the  Father  above,  which  may  be  said  to  have  been 
lost  in  sight.  He  had,  for  many  years,  been  an 
invalid ;  and  his  duties  had  confined  him  very  much 
to  his  own  little  family.  Sylvester  had  long  been 
planning  and  wishing  to  secure  a  visit  from  him, 
and  had  counted  largely  on  the  pleasure  it  would 
afford,  and  the  improvement  it  might  effect  in  his 
health,  to  spend  some  time  at  the  Augusta  Parsonage. 
But,  as  the  months  drew  near  when  he  hoped  to 
realize  this  long-cherished  wish,  this  brother  began 
to  decline  more  and  more.  Hopes  of  his  rallying 
grew  less  and  less  strong.  The  feared  and  dreaded 
message  at  last  arrived,  that  he  had  approached  the 
confines  of  the  spirit-world.  Sylvester's  efforts  to 
reach  him  in  season  for  one  more  earthly  interview, 
one  parting  exchange  of  the  deep  love  of  their 
hearts,  were  fruitless.  Ere  he  arrived,  with  familiar 
discourse  upon  the  subject,  with  the  calmness  of 
preparation  for  a  short  journey,  and  with  sweet, 
child-like  trust  and  composure,  expressing  a  willing 
ness  at  any  moment  to  leave  the  world,  his  spirit  had 
passed  away  :  his  body,  as  if  in  gentle  sleep,  alone 
remained.  Sylvester's  grief  at  this  rending  of  the 
brotherly  tie  shall  be  given  in  his  own  words,  in  a 
letter  addressed  — 

40* 


474  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

To  HIS  WIFE  AND  SISTER. 

"  NORTHAMPTON,  Feb.  27,  1850. 

"  My  heart  bleeds.  Last  night,  I  went  into  the 
parlor,  where  the  body  lay,  and  shut  the  doors  to  be 
alone.  I  must  needs  give  way  to  the  sadness  of  my 

feelings.  Poor,  dear,  good  H 1 !  poor,  dear, 

good  H 1 !  I  kissed  his  forehead  for  myself, 

and  for  you  all.  Calm,  composed,  he  looked ;  his 
forehead  fair,  smooth,  beautiful,  as  ever.  But  dead, 
dead !  Where  was  his  accustomed  sweet  smile  ? 
where  his  gentle  welcome  ?  where  some  response  to 
the  bursting  agony  of  my  spirit  ? 

"  No  voice,  no  eye,  no  cheerful  interest !  My 
brother,  my  best  brother,  dead !  I  sat  down  in 
silence,  in  deepest  sorrow. 

' '  There  are  the  old  pines  in  the  neighborhood  of 
his  house,  ojice  enlivened  by  his  presence ;  there  are 
the  fruit-trees  that  he  took  such  interest  in  ;  there 
are  the  firs  I  had  talked  with  him  so  much  about. 
To-day  I  saw  some  old  stalks  of  corn  that  he  left, 
and,  too,  the  neighbors'  hens  that  used  to  perplex 
him  so,  and  that  he  drove  off  in  so  quiet  a  way,  — 
all  things  full  of  his  sweet  image.  His  old,  living, 
good  form  comes  up  continually  in  all  this  deso 
lation. 

"  So  it  is  :  he  is  gone  for  this  world ;  but  the 
other  world  gains  a  noble  inhabitant.  The  other 
world  must  be  enriched  to  our  eyes  and  heart  by  a 
new  interest.  God  prepare  us  all  for  our  last  end  !  " 

.   In  relation  to  the  same  bereavement  are  the  fol 
lowing  extracts  :  — 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  475 

To  HIS  BROTHER  J.  W. 

"  AUGUSTA,  March  9,  1850. 

"  I  cannot,  I  need  not,  express  all  that  I,  all  that 

•we  all,  feel  about  our  great  loss.  H 1  was  a 

very  dear  brother  to  me  :  the  thought  of  him  was 
dear  ;  the  idea  of  visiting  him  was  dear  ;  the  expec 
tation  that  he  would  visit  us  was  dear.  What  a 
melancholy  reigned  about  his  house,  and  over  his 
garden,  and  under  those  green  pines,  and  must  for 
ever  reign  !  The  maples  and  firs  and  peach-trees 
he  set  out,  and  watched  so  carefully,  and  watered  so 
industriously,  —  they  all  seemed  to  be  in  mourning 
for  him.  Think,  too,  of  his  dear  wife,  who  mourns 
him  because  she  knew  him  so  well,  and  of  the  little 
children,  who  will  never  mourn  him  because  they 
never  knew  him.  To  me  it  was,  as  you  may  sup 
pose,  a  sad  office  to  be  called  to  perform  the  funeral- 
service. 

"  But  his  end  was  serene,  hopeful,  bright ;  and 
his  consummation  is  now  glorious.  Our  sorrows  are 
softened ;  the  very  gloom  of  our  hearts  is  uplifted 
to  the  light  and  the  joy  of  heaven.  Dear  spirit  of 
our  departed  brother,  we  know  thou  art  blest.  God 
prepare  all  of  us  to  meet  thee  in  peace  !  Thy 
memory  will  ever  be  about  us  to  cheer,  admonish, 
guide,  and  save." 

To  HIS  FATHER. 

"AUGUSTA,  March  10,  1850. 

"  Dear  Father,  —  I  think  a  great  deal  about  the 
dear  departed.  His  miniature  is  now  open  on  my 
table.  His  gentle  eye,  his  tender  feeling,  are  all 


476  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

there.  His  sudden  decline  deprived  us  of  a  deeply 
cherished  hope,  that  he  would  visit  us  this  summer, 
recreate  his  strength,  see  our  houses,  and  enjoy  a 
portion  of  our  life.  How  lonely  and  sad  must  F.  be  ! 
how  seemingly  unsheltered  are  the  two  orphans  ! 
But  God's  will  be  done  !  " 

To   HIS    SlSTEE-IN-LAW,   F.   J. 

"AUGUSTA,  March  24,  1850. 

"  Dear  Sister,  —  P.  writes  that  you  are  going  to 
leave  your  house.  It  must  be  sad  parting  with  the 
house,  even  as  it  was  with  him  who  was  the  life  of 
it.  I  think  a  great  deal  of  my  dear  brother.  His 
daguerreotype  stands  continually  open  before  me 
upon  my  desk.  His  pure  spirit  in  the  heavenly 
world  blesses  me.  Yet  I  did  wish  —  oh,  how  I 
wished !  —  to  see  him  in  the  flesh  a  little  longer. 
His  death  weighs  upon  my  heart,  yet  without  'dis 
turbing  my  faith. 

"  That  house  is  endeared  to  you  ;  the  garden,  the 
shrubbery,  the  fruit-trees,  even  to  the  kitchen  and 
the  shed.  How  he  watered  those  trees  !  how  inter 
ested  he  was  in  their  growth !  what  a  variety  of  little 
plans  he  had  for  the  future  !  All  gone,  all  gone  ! 
God's  blessed  will  be  done  ! 

"  How  we  did  calculate  on  a  visit,  a  long  visit, 

from  H 1  this  summer,  and  hoped  to  give  him 

that  leisure  and  recreation  which  would  favor  his 
health ! 

"We  are  looking  forward  to  a  pleasant  summer. 

I  too  have  a  garden  and  trees,  —  which  H 1  will" 

never  see. 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  477 

"  God's  love,  and  good  promises,  and  sustaining 
spirit,  be  in  your  heart !  " 

To  his  sister  P.,  April  7,  1850,  he  says  :  "  Dear 
face,  we  shall  see  it  no  more.  The  blessedness  of 

H 1,  his  virtues,  his  meekness,  his  quaint,  good 

ways,  —  it  makes  me  sigh  every  day  when  I  think 
that,  as  to  this  world,  they  are  lost  to  us  for  ever. 
I  still  see,  in  my  mind's  eye,  his  homely,  benevolent 
form  walking  under  those  shadowy  pines.  Shall  I 
greet  it  no  more  ?  " 

In  a  blank-book,  apparently  with  the  intention  of 
writing  a  memorial  of  this  dear  brother,  stands  only 
this  simple  record :  "  t)ied,  my  dear,  blessed  brother 
Hall,  Feb.  26,  1850." 

The  sermon  on  the  "  Affection  of  Brothers," 
which  this  event  called  forth,  has  been  referred  to. 

Sylvester  had  great  influence  with  his  brothers 
and  sisters,  and  was  intellectually  and  spiritually  a 
leading  member  of  the  band.  In  all  their  good 
fortune  he  participated ;  and  for  their  sorrows  his 
sympathy  was  ever  ready.  To  his  brother  J.  ~W., 
who  was  mourning  the  loss  of  a  dear  little  boy,  he 
thus  writes  :  — 

"  Oct.  23,  1845. 

"  My  deai-  Brother,  —  I  have  been  wishing  to 
write  you  ever  since  I  received  yours,  announcing 
the  sickness  of  Channing,  '  the  sweet  little  one,' 
but  have  hardly  found  one  collected  moment ;  and 
even  now,  just  after  getting  your  very  full  account 
of  his  death,  and  when  I  could  most  wish  to  write, 
I  have  hardly  a  spare  moment.  "We  do  all  most 


478  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

deeply  sympathize  -with  you  and  E.,  as  we  did  all 
most  deeply  love  the  little  boy.  Channing's  sweet 
smile,  his  soft  voice,  his  winsome  ways,  his  gentle 
spirit,  we  can  never  forget.  It  must  have  been  a 
melancholy  errand,  that  of  going  with  him  to  EL, 
and  shutting  the  remains  of  so  much  innocence,  so 
much  loveliness,  so  much  beauty,  in  the  silent  grave. 
God  only  knows  the  bitterness,  the  anguish,  of  your 
hearts ;  and  may  he  sustain  you  in  this  severe 
trial ! 

"  I  preach  that  children  go  to  heaven,  that  he  who 
blessed  them  on  earth  blesses  them  there,  that  the 
dead  little  ones  are  treasures  laid  up  in  heaven ;  and 
what  is  preached,  we  would  all  practically  believe. 
There  is  a  reunion.  There  comes  a  time  when  we 
shall  go  to  the  loved  and  lost,  —  when  parents  shall 
meet  again  their  children.  Angels  have  charge  over 
their  pure  souls,  and  will  keep  them  until  we  go  for 
them.  In  this  hope  let  us  rest ;  in  this  bright 
prospect  let  our  tears  be  dry,  and  our  afflicted  hearts 
find  repose.  In  the  earth  rests  his  body :  let  our 
souls  rise  with  his  to  the  skies.  I  will  pray  for 
you." 

In  November,  1845,  he  wrote  as  follows  to  his 

brother  H 1  and  wife,  who  were  then  under  like 

circumstances  of  bereavement :  — 

1 '  My  dear  Brother  and  Sister,  —  We  have  re 
ceived  tidings  of  the  death  of  your  little  boy.  I 
know  your  hearts  are  pained  by  this  sad  event ;  that 
a  strong  parental  hope  is  crushed,  and  a  portion  of 
your  daily  life,  as  it  were,  blotted  out  for  ever.  I 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  479 

believe  you  are  sustained  by  those  reflections  that 
flow  from  our  holy  religion  ;  that  you  call  to  mind 
Jesus,  the  bosom-friend  of  little  children  ;  that  you 
anticipate  a  reunion  with  the  loved  and  lost ;  and 
that  you  acquiesce  in  the  will  of  your  heavenly 
Father. 

"  Notwithstanding  our  religion,  our  philosophy, 
our  stoicism  even,  it  is  a  sad  thing  to  bury  a  child  ; 
to  shut  it  away  from  our  arms,  our  sight,  and  our 
love,  and  consign  it  to  the  silent  grave.  To  part 
with  its  voice,  its  face,  its  sweet  eyes,  its  plays, 
afflicts  us  sorely.  But  its  memory  will  abide  in  your 
soul  ,•  and  the  prospect  of  again  meeting  it  will 
brighten  your  lonely  pilgrimage.  W.  too  has  been 
called  to  mourn  :  his  Channing,  mild,  spiritual  boy, 
is  no  more.  Let  us  feel  that  we  are  all  children  of 
the  universal  Father,  and  that  our  children  are  his 
also  ;  and,  when  he  calls  them  to  himself,  we  will 
resign  them  without  doubt  or  complaint. 

"  Our  hold  on  things  of  earth  is  frail :  let  us 
therefore  use  them  well ;  let  us  love,  and  do  good 
to,  our  children,  and  they  will  be  better  fitted  to  go, 
and  we  to  spare  them.  Presently  it  must  come  our 
own  turn  to  die.  If  any  children  are  left  to  bury 
us,  may  it  be  with  the  feeling  that  we  were  good 
fathers,  good  mothers. 

"  Your  brother  very  affectionately, 

"  SYLVESTER." 

More  deeply  still  was  he  affected  by  the  loss  of 
"  Arthur  Willie,"  as  the  little  fellow  called  himself, 
the  only  child  of  his  sister  A.  This  endeared  boy, 
of  high  promise,  was  doubly  his  nephew,  and  almost 


480  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

twin  in  age  with  his  own  little  girl.  The  two  chil 
dren  had  been  associated  together  from  their  birth, 
and,  as  they  advanced  in  age,  had  been  almost  daily 
together,  sharing  the  same  playthings,  the  same 
attentions.  The  father  and  uncle  had  watched  with 
equal  interest  the  developments  of  the  two,  marked 
their  contrasts,  idiosyncracies,  and  intimations  of 
future  character.  The  two  households,  indeed,  were 
somewhat  one ;  and  the  children  seemed  to  be 
shared  almost  in  common.  The  blight  of  that  noble 
little  form,  the  transit  beyond  the  reach  of  sense  of 
that  winning  spirit,  touched  his  heart  with  the  most 
tender  grief,  and  drew  forth  unwonted  sobs  and 
tears.  In  a  little  Journal  in  which  he  kept  the 
record  of  the  childish  sayings  and  doings  of  his  little 
girl,  he  writes  :  — 

"  Dec.  15,  1846.  —  Little  Arthur  died.  At  one 
sudden  stroke  is  thus  swept  away  much  attractive 
ness,  the  fairest  promise  of  youth,  and  the  strongest 
joy  of  many.  Arthur  had  a  light  complexion,  blue 
eyes,  blond  hair,  red  cheeks ;  was  agile,  energetic, 
talkative ;  his  limbs  were  hard,  fat,  and  round ;  his 
step  firm,  his  manner  enthusiastic.  He  was  develop 
ing  fast,  and  that  in  a  way  that  made  each  but  the 
presage  of  some  still  more  beautiful  attitude.  He 
won  the  good  opinion  of  all,  and  retained  the  interest 
of  old  friends.  He  was  two  years  and  four  months 
old ;  two  months  older  than  Lizzie.  These  two  chil 
dren,  contemporaneous  and  juxtaposed,  seemed  fitted 
to  grow  up  together,  and  were  mutually  intertwined 
about  the  same  parental  hearts.  They  are  separated, 
and  these  hearts  bleed." 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  481 

"  Dec.  18.  —  Arthur  was  buried.  It  snowed  all 
night,  rained  all  day.  But  four  of  us  went  with 
him  to  the  tomb.  His  grandfather  carried  the  coffin 
in  his  arms,  from  the  house  to  the  carriage.  We 
laid  him  in  silence  to  his  last  rest.  God  have  mercy 
upon  us ! " 

He  writes  his  parents  and  family-friends  at  North 
ampton,  announcing  this  sorrow :  — 

"Dec.  16,  1846. 

"  You  have  heard  of  the  sickness  of  little  Arthur, 
and  I  have  now  to  communicate  the  sad  intelligence 
of  his  decease.  This  morning  he  lies  in  his  little 
crib,  near  the  bed,  as  he  used  to  sleep.  He  is  fair 
and  lovely  in  death.  At  the  head  of  the  crib  I  have 
placed  those  two  little  plaster-casts,  representing 
youth  and  innocence.  A.  has  placed  her  little 
1  Samuel '  in  the  same  room.  Some  flowers  are  on 
his  breast. 

"  I  need  not  say  that  we  are  greatly,  very  greatly 
afflicted,  nor  ask  for  your  sympathies,  which  will 
flow  so  freely  towards  us.  It  seems  as  if  /,  as  well 
as  they,  had  lost  a  child,  —  as  if  half  of  our  little  one 
was  gone.  Arthur  had  grown  exceedingly  strong, 
active,  and  promising.  He  was  full  of  life  and 
spirits,  and  conveyed  the  gladdest  impressions  to  all 
who  beheld  him.  His  healthful  form  is  extended 
in  death ;  the  ruddiness  of  his  cheek,  the  brilliancy 
of  his  eye,  have  fled;  his  sweet,  exhilarating  voice 
we  shall  hear  no  more.  How  great  the  blow! 
Arthur  has  been  a  blessing  to  us,  and  we  will  not 
complain  that  that  blessing  is  now  restored  to  its 
Author,  and  to  our  Father  in  heaven." 

41 


482  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

And,  under  the  same  date,  to  his  brother  J.  "W. :  — 
"  You,  my  dear  brother,  can  sympathize  with  us  in 
this  affliction ;  you,  who  have  had  your  fair  and  pro 
mising  children  cut  down,  can  tell  what  is  the  deep 
and  bitter  anguish  of  such  a  bereavement.  You 
know  how  Arthur  had  grown ;  you  have  seen  how 
promising  he  was,  and  you  can  well  understand  how, 
not  only  his  parents,  but  all  of  us,  had  become 
strongly  attached  to  him.  But  he  has  gone ;  a  dark 
veil  has  suddenly  been  drawn  over  all  his  bright 
future ;  into  the  heart  of  affection  sinks  an  irrepres 
sible  anguish. 

"  We  would  not  murmur  at  God's  dealings ;  we 
would  that  all  chastisement  may  work  for  our  good." 

Again,  when  the  infant  son  of  his  brother  H 1, 

and  the  sole  supporter  of  his  name,  followed  that 
sainted  father  to  the  skies,  he  thus  wrote  the  be 
reaved  wife  and  mother,  — 

His  SISTER-IN-LAW  F.  J. 

"AuausTA,  Nov.  17,  1851. 

"  Dear  F.  —  We  were  not  surprised  to  hear  of 
the  death  of  your  little  boy.  He  has  been  a  great 
sufferer,  and  death  is  to  him  a  release.  To  you  it 
is  a  sadness  and  bereavement.  The  good  God  sup 
port  you  under  your  manifold  trials !  Though  he 
cause  grief,  yet  will  he  have  compassion  according 
to  the  multitude  of  his  mercies.  I  do  not  presume 
to  penetrate  all  the  mysteries  of  Divine  Providence ; 
but  only  of  this  am  I  assured,  that  Infinite  and 
unchanging  Love  rules  the  universe,  and  directs  our 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS*  483 

lot.  On  this  will  I  rest ;  to  this  will  I  come  ;  before 
this  will  I  humbly  and  meekly  bow.  Let  me  be  the 
child  of  this  love ;  and  my  children,  and  all  I  love 
are  its  too. 

"  I  was  very  sorry  not  to  see  you  last  summer.  I 

rode  by  '  H 1's  ; '  saw  the  great  pines  where  he 

used  to  come  up,  the  maples  and  peaches  he  watered, 
the  garden  he  hoed,  the  house  he  built,  —  Tie  was 
not  there.  Yet  sweetly,  serenely,  his  memory  and 
the  shadow  of  his  spirit  rest  on  all.  He  cannot 
come  to  us ;  we  shall  go  to  him." 

Sylvester  never  let  a  very  long  period  pass  with 
out  writing  his  mother.  Even  when  most  pressed 
with  the  duties  of  his  profession  and  his  literary 
labors,  with  accustomed  filial  love  and  duty,  he 
would  from  time  to  time  jot  down  for  her  eye  a 
few  brief  items  connected  with  his  daily  life ;  a  few 
words  of  affectionate  remembrance.  These  letters 
were  generally  interspersed,  here  and  there,  with  a 
little  merry  humor,  to  cheer  and  enliven  the  some 
what  solitary  old  home,  left  nearly  childless  by  the 
establishment  of  one  after  another  of  its  early  in 
mates,  in  business  or  households  of  their  own.  He 
often  contrived  to  get  up  a  little  amusement  at  the 
expense  of  his  youngest  sister,  the  only  child  re 
maining  with  the  parents.  A  few  specimens  of  these 
familiar  home-letters  are  here  given :  — 


To  HIS  SISTER  P- 


"  AUGUSTA,  April  7,  1850. 

"  Dear   P n,  —  The    days    pass    off   without 

much  that  is  novel  or  interesting.     The  ice  has  left 


484  DOMESTIC   RELATIONS. 

the  river ;  and  last  night  a  beautiful  little  steamboat 
came  up  to  our  wharves.  I  have  set  some  new  trees, 
and  reset  some  old  ones.  We  have  had  the  window 
leading  from  the  parlor  to  the  veranda  changed  to  a 
door.  I  have  some  early  peas  sprouted,  which  I 
shall  sow  to-morrow.  J.'s  roses  and  other  flowers 
in  the  bay-window  are  looking  splendidly.  The 
children  play  about  the  house,  jam  their  noses,  bring 
in  mud,  run  off  to  Mr.  F.'s,  &c.,  &c.  Birds  are 
beginning  to  be  quite  merry  in  the  morning.  A. 
was  here  to  tea ;  J.  at  his  mother's ;  J.  C.  has  sent 
me  a  patent  bee-house,  and  I  think  some  of  purchas 
ing  some  inmates  for  it. 

"  We  rest  in  the  strong  hope  of  seeing  you  all 
here  this  summer. 

"  With  much  love," 

To  HIS  MOTHER. 

"  AUGUSTA,  Dec.  21,  1851. 

"  Dear  Mother,  —  I  preached  yesterday  on  *  Pov 
erty  :  its  various  remedies.'  I  conclude  that  industry 
is  the  only  effectual  cure. 

"  I  have  no  great  confidence  in  our  liquor-law. 

"  We  have  had  pretty  cold  weather.  — 12°,  how 
ever,  is,  I  think,  our  lowest. 

"F.  and  K.  seem  to  enjoy  themselves  pretty 
well. 

"  Gravel-cars  run  on  our  railroad  daily.  It  will 
open  for  passengers  next  Monday. 

"  I  go  to  Bangor  next  Saturday ;  preach,  and  lec 
ture  on  Monday. 

"  J.'s  hens  do  not  begin  to  lay. 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  485 

"  Apples  here  are  tolerably  good  and  plenty.  "We 
get  them  for  about  fifty  cents  a  bushel. 

"  The  Cony  Academy  has  twelve  scholars. 

"Our  study  is  warm,  sunny,  and  pleasant.  I 
wish  you  could  be  here. 

"I  hope  P n  will  have  a  good  time  in  S. 

She  need  not  visit  the  Armory  unless  she  wishes  to. 

"Tell  her  the  latest  fashions  are  red  and  blue 
folly,  laced  with  corn-colored  nonsense.  She  will 
see  plenty  of  it  in  the  street  every  day.  Face  ex 
posed,  nose  a  good  deal  stuck  out,  and,  if  it  is  cold, 
crimson.  Legs  surrounded  by  mud  and  taffeta. 
"Your  son,  affectionately, 

"  SYLVESTER." 

If,  in  P — — n's  letters  to  her  sister  in  Augusta, 
Sylvester  chanced  to  discover  any  little  references 
to  dress  or  fashions,  he  was  very  likely  to  take  the 
matter  up  in  a  letter  to  his  mother,  and  discuss  it,  as 
in  this  wise :  "  She  asks,  *  How  do  you  dress  your 
hair  ? '  Now,  ( dress  '  implies  clothing,  something 
put  on ;  and  she  would  not  say,  how  do  you  clothe 
your  hair  ?  To  be  sure,  we  sometimes  speak  of 
dressing  down  a  horse,  or  giving  a  boy  a  good  dress 
ing,  that  is,  thrashing  ;  we  dress  flax,  that  is,  break  it 
in  pieces,  get  out  the  chives.  But  you  would  not 
apply  this  to  a  lady's  hair.  It  would  be  proper  to 
say,  How  do  you  fix,  or  comb,  or  curl,  or  frizz,  or 
fantasticate  your  hair  ?  " 

Again  :  "  There  were  some  things  in  P n's 

letter  I  could  not  understand.  Is  she  losing  her 
mind?  There  was  a  whole  page  about  patterns 
and  turning  in  (one  turns  in  when  he  takes  his 

41* 


486  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

berth,  in  a  steamboat),  and  edges,  and  Julias,  and 
what  not ! " 

And  to  P n  herself:  "You  ask  about  ' tight 

waists.'  They  are  the  worst  things  in  the  world, 
stop  the  breathing,  crook  the  ribs,  deform  the  shape, 
and  bring  on  death  or  a  premature  old  age.  I  would 
not  have  one." 

A  frequent  close  of  his  letters  to  his  family- 
friends  was  like  the  following  to  his  brother  C.  P. : 
"  God  keep  us  alive  in  his  own  good  love.  It  will 
be  a  long  time  before  we  all  shall  meet.  Let  us 
hold  together,  by  pen  and  ink  at  least ;  and  may  the 
great  God  bless  and  watch  over  us  in  all  our  ways !  " 
And  to  his  mother :  "  Warmer  days  will  come,  and 
softer  airs.  The  good  God  have  us  all  in  his  keep 
ing,  summer  and  winter,  for  time  and  eternity !  " 

Thus  were  Sylvester's  relations  to  the  home  of  his 
youth.  Strong  and  tender  were  his  affections  for 
his  parents,  his  brothers  and  sisters. 

But  with  a  nature  so  sensitive,  with  a  soul  crav 
ing  for  continual  and  perfect  sympathy,  it  may  well 
be  supposed  that  some  still  deeper,  more  exclusive 
individual  love  was  necessary  to  satisfy  his  needs. 
And,  without  intruding  too  far  into  the  secret  cham 
bers  of  his  heart,  much,  it  is  believed,  may  be 
revealed  of  what  to  him  was  the  light  of  life,  the 
holiest  of  his  earthly  relations. 

In  a  letter  to  a  friend,  written  in  1840,  he  says  : 
"The  secret,  the  weakness,  the  essential  self  of  my 
character,  is  a  desire  of  sympathy.  These  are  my 
Sampson's  locks.  Strange  that  I  should  confess  it 
to  you.  But  you  have  it.  On  this  point  I  am 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  487 

weak,  weak  as  water.  This  gate  entered,  you  are 
sure  of  the  citadel.  Only  take  care  in  falling  it 
does  not  crush  you.  When  I  came  to  Augusta,  it 
was  with  the  fixed  determination  to  .repair,  to  wall 
up,  this  weak  spot ;  to  destroy  this  tendency  of  my 
heart;  to  make  war  upon  myself,  till  this  part  of 
myself  was  subdued  and  extinguished.  Alas,  how 
foolish  are  ourselves,  are  we !  How  impotent  the 
arm  we  lift  against  our  natures !  My  desire  of 
sympathy,  or  rather,  I  should  say,  the  compass  of 
my  being,  has  a  threefold  aspect,  —  sentiment,  phi 
losophy,  religion.  In  each  of  these  I  live  ;  in  each 
I  have  suffered:  eaeh  is  by  turns  or  together  the 
sunlight  or  the  shade  of  my  existence." 

The  entire  fulfilment  and  consummation  of  this 
desire  of  sympathy  was  not  enjoyed  until  after  Mr. 
Judd's  entrance  upon  professional  life.  To  her  with 
whom  this  long  and  earnestly  desired  spirit-alliance 
was  at  length  formed,  delicacy  forbids  any  thing 
more  than  the  indirect  allusions  which  occur  in  un 
folding  whatever  of  this  part  of  his  nature  may  be 
developed. 

Sacred  as  are  the  precincts  to  which  we  now  ap 
proach,  it  seems  almost  a  duty  somewhat  to  draw 
aside  the  veil,  and  reveal  his  pure,  beautiful  ideal  of 
the  wedding  of  souls ;  the  fresh  coloring  it  gave 
to  the  tissue  of  his  existence,  and  its  blendings  with 
what  was  most  sacred  to  him  in  time  and  for  ever. 

And  here  especially  must  he  be  allowed  to  speak 
for  himself.  In  his  Journal  he  writes  :  — 

"Augusta,  Feb.  11,  1841. — My  new  life  takes 
its  date.  I  am  born  to-day.  I  may  well  open  a 


488  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

new  book,  adopt  a  new  caption,  write  a  new  style, 
indulge  a  new  strain.  Time  is  past.  Eternity  com 
mences.  My  probation  is  over ;  my  reward  imposed. 
My  travels  are  at  an  end ;  my  home  is  reached.  My 
half-soul  has  found  its  mate.  My  tomb-life  is  bro 
ken  ;  my  real  life  enjoyed.  My  heart  is  happy ;  my 
purposes  free ;  my  future  certain ;  my  aspirations 
are  at  rest.  I  am  tranquil  now.  I  fret  not ;  I  for- 
bode  nothing.  Chiefly,  ever,  and  for  ever,  I  thank 
thee,  O  my  God !  Every  good  and  perfect  gift 
cometh  from  thee ;  and  J.  thou  hast  given  me.  I 
give  to  thee  my  supreme  gratitude,  my  overflowing 
thankfulness.  I  consecrate  my  love,  myself,  my 
all,  to  thee.  From  thee  I  received  her,  to  thee  I 
give  her.  From  thee  I  received  my  heart,  to  thee 
I  give  it.  All  is  thine  !  all  is  mine  !  From  thee  I 
would  not  for  a  moment  be  separated.  In  thee 
I  would  be  united  with  all  I  love.  Take  us  to 
thyself,  to  thy  own  bosom,  to  thy  own  love,  un 
worthy,  weak,  and  sinful  as  we  are.  In  thee  alone 
are  we  holy.  Without  thee  we  are  lost.  In  thee 
alone  do  we  dare  to  live.  With  thee  our  love  is  a 
holy  flame.  Bless  us,  we  pray  thee,  now  and  ever 
more." 

Thus  did  this  great  epoch  of  his  life  serve  to 
restore  him  more  perfectly  to  himself,  to  reinstate 
his  integrity  of  being,  and  to  make  him  more  entirely 
one  with  God,  with  nature,  with  humanity.  It  was 
to  him  a  new  existence,  a  fresh  birth  of  his  soul. 
The  tide  of  affection  flowed  forth  higher  than  before 
towards  his  ever-cherished  family -friends.  All  things 
seemed  good  to  him.  His  love  he  felt  to  be  a  holy 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  489 

thing,  that  he  could  carry  up  to  heaven,  that  would 
bear  the  light  of  eternity. 

In  communicating  this  intelligence  to  his  mother, 
he  writes :  "  This  does  not  take  me  from  you,  my 
dear  mother,  and  from  all  my  own  dear  home.  It 
multiplies  my  happiness,  without  dividing  it.  I 
shall  love  you  all  more  and  more.  Do  write  me 
soon,  my  dear  mother.  Give  me  a  mother's  bless 
ing,  congratulations,  prayers.  You  know  I  must 
be  happy.  You  know  I  have  needed  some  one  to 
love  me.  .  .  .  Write  soon,  my  dear  father,  and  con 
firm  my  own  step  by  giving  me  a  father's  blessing 
and  hopes.  Give  J.  the  seal  of  your  adoption." 

To  a  sister-in-law  he  says  :  "  I  have  to  write  you 
this  morning  from  a  new  life,  in  a  new  world,  and 
yet  one  from  which  you  have  often  wished  to  hear 
from  me.  It  is  the  region  of  the  affections,  of  the 
heart,  and  happiness.  Do  send  me  your  congratula 
tions.  Send  me  a  sister's  blessing.  Send  to  her 
a  sister's  love.  All  this  also  to  your  dear  husband, 
to  my,  to  our,  dear  brother." 

And  to  his  brother  H i :  "  In  your  letter  of 

October  15,  you  say,  'The  next  thing  to  be  done 
will  be  to  take  to  yourself  a  wife  from  among  the 
many  daughters  of  earth.'  Such  a  prospect  is  now 
fairly  before  me.  What  seemed  to  me  a  hint  of  the 
impossible  becomes  a  prophecy  of  the  true.  I  know 
you  will  share  my  happiness  on  this  event,  and  I 
am  pleased  immediately  to  apprise  you  of  it.  Write 
me  immediately  ;  write  to  us,  and  welcome  your  new 
sister  to  the  household  and  to  your  own  heart." 

The   interval    before    marriage,   to    use    his    own 


490  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

words,  he  "  passed  in  new  soul-enjoyments,  tranquil 
progressions,  serene  anticipations." 

April  15,  his  Journal  says  :  "  She  read  my  book, 
took  a  glance  at  my  former  self.  Quam  mutatus  ab 
illo !  I  can  say  in  the  best  sense.  The  stream  that 
rustled  and  maddened  down  the  mountain  sleeps, 
with  a  quiet  surface,  a  serene  depth,  at  the  bottom." 
To  A.  H.  he  writes,  Aug.  £8,  just  on  the  eve  of 
marriage  :  "  We  have  few  fears,  few  trepidations,  few 
movings  of  the  spirit  in  any  way.  We  are  already 
upon  the  sea.  'Tis  only  passing  from,  latitude  to 
latitude.  We  sail  on  as  goodly  as  possible.  Heaven 
bless  us  !  Our  friends  pray  for  us.  We  glide  into 
all  things  so  naturally,  so  easily,  we  hardly  feel  the 
change.  God  is  good  to  us.  Our  own  souls  strive 
for  virtue  and  holiness.  We  can  but  be  trustful." 

On  the  evening  of  Aug.  31,  1841,  Mr.  Judd  was 
married.  The  usual  ceremony  on  such  occasions 
seeming  to  him  altogether  inadequate  to  his  owrt 
.idea  of  the  true  marriage,  he  prepared  for  the  purpose, 
as  the  only  medium  of  expression  that  could  satisfy 
his  needs,  the  following  form  of  words  :  — 

"You,  Sylvester  Judd,  jun.,  take  Jane  Elizabeth 
Williams  to  be  your  lawful  and  wedded  wife  ;  you, 
Jane  Elizabeth  Williams,  take  Sylvester  Judd,  jun., 
to  be  your  lawful  and  wedded  husband,  —  a  union 
of  the  finite  with  the  finite  soul,  under  the  embrace, 
protection,  presence,  and  love  of  the  Infinite  Soul ; 
in  deep  humility  of  spirit,  in  solemn  sense  of  respon- 
sibleness,  in  supreme  devotion  to  virtue  and  to 
truth,  to  Christ  and  to  God,  in  earnest  prayer  for 
divine  illumination  and  aid ;  feeling  in  your  own 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  491 

consciousness  an  identity  and  affiliation  of  sentiment, 
faith,  and  purpose ;  pledging  the  strength  and  con 
stancy,  the  assiduity  and  ministries,  of  your  love ; 
engaging  to  one  another  a  mutual  and  reciprocal 
submissiveness  and  authority,  deference  and  honor ; 
subordinating  each  motive  and  wish,  each  action  and 
feeling,  to  your  common  happiness  and  sustenance ; 
resting  your  hopes  for  the  future  upon  the  good  pro 
vidence  of  God,  and  the  sacred  interests  of  your 
own  hearts ;  —  so  you  are,  so  you  effect,  so  you 
covenant,  so  you  are  espoused  for  ever." 

In  the  fulness  of  his  happiness/  on  taking  his 
wife  to  the  old  home,  he  thus  puts  forth  his  feelings 
in  his  Journal :  — 

"Northampton,  Sept.  4,  1841.  —  J.  is  where  I 
have  been,  walks  my  walks,  sits  my  seats,  sees  my 
sights.  How  changed  does  it  make  me !  or  rather  it 
brings  me  to  myself." 

"  Sept.  8.  —  Last  evening  we  went  over  Round 
Hill,  through  groves  and  scent  and  density  of  pines. 
How  strange  it  seems  to  me  to  have- one  with  me  in 
these  old  scenes  !  To-day  we  have  been  upon  Mount 
Holyoke.  The  river,  the  beauty,  is  there.  I  am 
changed.  I  am  happier.  I  have  a  soul  with  me. 
Another  being  blends  with  mine.  Another  love 
loves  with  me.  How  I  loved  to  see  her  moving  on 
the  road,  under  the  trees,  through  the  sunlight,  in 
the  scenes,  a  part  of  the  beauty !  I  was  so  calm,  so 
joyful.  The  world  seemed  fixed  in  beauty:  the 
heavens  were  stable  over  my  head.  A  shower  of 
gentle  influence  came  from  the  sky  into  my  heart. 
I  was  almost  afraid  of  my  happiness.  The  big 


492  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

mountains,  the  broad  vision,  the  white  river,  the 
meadows,  the  sweet  love,  the  eternal  God." 

"  Sept.  12.  —  At  Westhampton,  went  over  to  the 
graveyard.  Saw  the  monuments  of  our  family. 
Old  scenes,  familiar  hills  and  trees,  and  solitu'de  and 
quietness.  Some  old  crickets,  some  sand  in  the 
roads.  Showed  J.  the  room  where  I  was  born. 
Showed  her  the  school-house  where  I  learned  my 
letters,  the  store  where  I  tended,  the  meeting-house 
where  I  heard  the  old  minister,  &c. 

"  "Westhampton  is  greatly  changed  in  all  save  its 
hills  and  its  sblitude.  The  people  are  changed. 
The  boys  and  girls  whom  I  knew  are  gone,  some 
dead.  S.  J.  is  dead.  I  recited  in  philosophy  with 
her.  .  .  .  My  brothers  are  good.  Perhaps  I  am  not 
open  enough  to  them.  I  will  try  to  be  more  so." 

He  writes,  during  this  visit,  — 

To    HIS   MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"  NOETHAMPTON,  Sept.  10,  1841. 

"  Our  dear  Mother,  —  You  have  heard  of  our 
journey,  our  arrival,  our  health  and  happiness.  We 
are  happy  in  ourselves,  happy  in  our  circumstances. 
Our  friends  are  well,  and  happy  in  our  being  with 
them.  God  has  blessed  us  in  all  our  ways.  We 
are  joyful  in  his  presence ;  we  are  grateful  for  his 
mercies.  We  trust  in  his  goodness  ;  we  repose  on 
the  everlasting  arms.  We  were  sorry  to  anticipate 
the  arrival  of  our  father  Williams,  and  glad  to  anti 
cipate  the  departure  of  our  father  Judd.  May  God 
bless  and  love  both  our  dear  parents,  and  supply 
to  them  all  that  realization  of  hope,  that  fruition  of 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  493 

labor,  that  reward  of  interest,  which  a  parent  has, 
does,  and  feels  for  a  child !  "We  are  not  insensible 
of  our  obligations  or  their  claims.  "Whatever  affects 
their  happiness  in  the  least  penetrates  our  own  hearts 
most  deeply.  My  own  father's  hairs  are  white, 
white  as  your  father  Cony's.  We  are  both  reminded 
of  the  scriptural  injunction  to  honor  the  hoary 
head. 

"  I  think  my  mother  likes  her  new  daughter  very 
well.  Would  that  her  son  might  make  in  all  ways 
his  new  mother  as  happy!  .  .  .  J.  is  glad  I  have 
brought  her  to  so  beautiful  a  place.  God  is  indeed 
good  to  us ;  good  in  creating  such  a  world  as  this, 
good  in  giving  us  hearts  to  enjoy  it.  To  his  name 
be  all  the  glory.  We  are  not  proud,  if  we  are 
happy.  We  hope  not  to  forget  God,  even  if  we 
are  full  ourselves.  We  should  be  very  sinful,  if 
we  were  not  happy.  Our  trust  is  still  in  God.  It 
is  his  providence  that  brought  J.  and  me  together. 
It  is  in  his  love  that  we  have  loved ;  it  is  in  a  con 
sciousness  of  his  approval  that  we  are  married.  Our 
own  happiness  is  complete  only  in  the  blessing  of 
God.  That  we  have  sought ;  that  we  still  seek ; 
on  that  is  our  rest  for  ever.  We  have  given  our 
selves  to  Christ  and  the  church.  Christ  is  God 
manifest  in  the  flesh  to  us.  He  is  our  life,  our 
light,  the  substance  and  the  inspiration  of  our  souls. 
Christ's  first  miracle  was  done  at  a  marriage.  We 
believe  he  was  present  at  our  espousals.  We  believe 
he,  as  an  elder  brother,  loves  us,  a  brother  and  sister 
in  the  Lord.  His  promise  and  his  blessing  are  ours  ; 
and  why  should  we  fear  ?  Life,  indeed,  is  before  us  ; 

42 


494  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

its  duties,  its  trials,  its  hours  of  darkness,  its  scenes 
of  adversity,  sickness,  and  death.  But  there  is  no 
death  to  the  righteous  ;  there  is  no  insupportable 
affliction  to  the  pure  in  heart.  Let  us  be  righteous, 
let  us  be  pure,  and  God  will  take  care  of  us.  .  .  .  To 
our  friends  also  we  commend  ourselves  ;  to  the  kind 
ness  and  love  of  our  dear  parents,  our  dear  brothers 
and  sisters,  we  commend  ourselves.  Our  happiness 
and  theirs  is  inseparably  linked.  We  would  be 
dutiful,  and  love  for  ever.  May  the  good  love  of 
God  protect  and  bless  us  all.  For  myself  and  J., 

"  Your  affectionate  Son." 

The  planning  and  building  of  his  cottage-resi 
dence,  and  the  embellishment  of  his  small  grounds, 
was  to  Mr.  Judd  a  very  pleasant  thing.  But  it  was 
the  idea  of  a  home,  —  one  constructed  according  to 
his  own  taste  and  convenience ;  one  around  which 
should  cluster  fondest  memories,  dearest  associations, 
and  which  should  become  a  cherished  spot  to  his 
children,  —  it  was  this  which  gave  him  the  chief 
delight.  It  was  to  him  a  very  interesting  problem, 
with  given  means  and  essential  comforts,  to  produce 
the  most  pleasing  effects. 

The  site  of  the  cottage  is  an  acclivity  on  the 
eastern  bank  of  the  Kennebec,  forming  a  grassy 
slope  in  front.  From  its  proximity  to  the  river, 
the  view  of  whose  waters  was  to  him  an  abiding 
pleasure,  he  adopted  the  name  Riverside,  as  the 
family  and  social  designation  of  his  residence ; 
while,  in  relation  to  his  church,  he  always  called  it 
Christ  Church  Parsonage.  All  the  interior  house- 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 


hold  appointments  are  cheerful,  commodious,  and 
tasteful.  Its  pointed  roof  with  cross-sealed  gable, 
its  dormar  windows  and  light  verandas,  together 
with  the  abundant  foliage  and  vines  of  its  summer 
costume,  give  it  a  very  charming  though  modest 
appearance.  It  seems  to  nestle  in  greenery,  cool 
ness,  and  quiet.  Almost  every  species  of  forest-tree 
is  here  represented  ;  and  every  shade-tree,  vine,  or 
fruit-tree  around,  was  planted,  if  not  by  Mr.  Judd's 
own  hand,  at  least  under  his  particular  supervision. 
All  were  arranged  with  regard  to  pleasant  effect,  and 
so  as  not  to  obstruct,  when  grown,  any  important 
view.  Here  is  a  little  clump  of  maples  or  arbor 
vitae  ;  there,  a  solitary  elm  or  pine.  The  avenue  of 
entrance  is  formed  of  evergreens  mixed  with  de 
ciduous  trees.  On  one  side  is  a  little  arbor  for  the 
children's  play-house,  constituted  of  white  birches 
set  closely  in  a  circle,  their  branches  making  the 
canopy  ;  and  on  the  other  are  young  trees  of  all 
sorts,  blended  in  native  wildness,  encircling  a  large, 
decaying,  old  red  maple,  and  leaving  quite  an  area 
around  the  central  tree. 

The  house  commands  an  unbroken  view  of  the 
Kennebec  for  the  distance  of  a  mile  in  a  southerly 
direction.  The  principal  part  of  the  town  of  Au 
gusta  lies  in  full  view,  amphitheatre-like,  on  the 
opposite  or  western  side  of  the  river,  its  various 
church-spires  pointing  upwards  to  the  same  heavens. 
There,  too,  are  seen,  on  one  hand,  the  capitol,  and, 
on  the  other,  the  marble  tablets  of  the  cemetery  for 
the  dead ;  and,  crowning  all,  the  sun-setting  horizon, 
with  its  undulating  outline  and  woody  summits. 


496  DOMESTIC   RELATIONS. 

And  this  was  the  home  which  to  Mr.  Judd  was 
so  precious,  to  which  he  sent  letters  almost  daily 
when  absent,  and  of  which  he  says  :  "  My  heart 
turns  to  it  with  eagerness,  and  fondly  settles  on  the 
objects  of  my  love  there,  —  my  wife  and  my  chil 
dren.  ...  I  shall  leave  for  home,  —  blessed,  longed- 
for  home,  —  to-morrow  morning."  It  is  this  which 
he  looks  out  from,  and,  with  as  much  truth  as 
beauty,  paints  in  "  Richard  Edney,"  where  he  says  : 
1 '  A  tale  is  like  this  June  morning  when  I  am  now 
writing.  I  hear  from  my  open  windows  the  singing 
of  birds,  the  rumble  of  a  stage-coach,  and  a  black 
smith's  anvil.  The  water  glides  prettily  through 
elms  and  willows.  There  are  deep  shadows  in  my 
landscape  ;  and  yonder  hill-side,  with  its  blossoming 
apple-trees,  glows  in  the  sunlight,  as  if  it  belonged 
to  some  other  realm  of  being.  On  the  right  of  my 
house  is  a  deep  gorge,  wet,  weedy,  where  are  toads 
and  snakes ;  and  fringing  this,  and  growing  up  in 
the  midst  of  it,  are  all  sorts  of  fresh,  green  shrubs, 
and  the  nickering,  glossy  leaves  of  white  birches. 
Superb  rock-maples  overhang  the  roof  of  an  iron- 
foundery,  down  under  the  hill  at  my  feet.  The 
dew,  early  this  morning,  covered  the  world  with 
topazes  and  rainbows,  and  my  child  got  her  feet  wet 
in  the  midst  of  the  glory.  Through  gully  and  or 
chard,  basement -windows  and  oriels,  shade  and  sheen, 
vibrates  a  delicious  breeze.  Over  all  hangs  the  sun ; 
down  upon  the  village  looks  that  eye  of  infinite  bless 
edness,  and  into  the  scene,  that  urn  of  exhaustless 
beauty,  pours  beauty.  The  smoke  from  the  foun- 
dery,  and  the  darkness  of  the  gorge,  are  beautiful ; 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  497 

cows  feeding  in  my  neighbor's  paddock  are  pleasant 
to  look  upon  •  Paddy,  with  pickaxe  on  his  shoulder, 
is  happy ;  Rusticus,  in  the  cornfield,  is  a  picture ; 
and  the  granite,  through  the  verdure  of  a  distant 
mountain-side,  gleams  out  like  silver.  This  morn 
ing's  sun  idealizes  every  thing.  Nature  is  not 
shocked  at  toads." 

As  may  well  be  supposed,  Mr.  Judd  was  an  ex 
ceedingly  domestic  man,  seeking  his  happiness,  no 
less  than  the  performance  of  his  duties,  at  home. 
He  was  always  there,  unless  called  away  by  impor 
tant  duties ;  and  then,  whether  out  of  town  or  at  a 
social  tea-drinking  in  his  own  neighborhood,  his 
arrangements  were  to  return  as  soon  as  possible. 

His  sabbaths  at  home  were  always  peculiarly  serene 
and  happy,  whatever  might  exist  calculated  to  dis 
turb  the  tranquillity  of  his  mind. 

His  impressions  on  becoming  a  father  were  of  the 
deepest  order.  He  regarded  the  new-born  one  as  a 
fresh  creation  from  the  hand  of  God ;  and,  from  the 
first  moment,  it  became  his  earnest  study  to  discover 
what  new  revelations  it  might  make  to  his  mind  of 
nature,  of  spirit.  The  day  succeeding  the  birth 
of  his  first  child,  he  writes  in  his  Journal :  — 

"  I  hold  it,  and  watch  the  expressions  of  its  face. 
All  passions  and  emotions  are  muscularly  developed, 
—  anger,  derision,  hope,  fear,  love,  joy.  It  smiles, 
it  weeps ;  it  looks  old,  it  looks  young ;  it  pouts  its 
lips  in  derision,  it  contracts  them  most  sagely ;  and 
all  owing  to  wind  in  the  stomach !  Can  that  be  ?  Is 
life  a  forgetting  ?  .  .  .  I  notice  the  child,  in  crying, 
42* 


498  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

very  distinctly  pronounces  the  syllable,  Ma.  It 
commences  with,  bringing  its  lips  together,  and  then 
suddenly  parting  them." 

And  again,  a  few  days  after  :  "  I  brought  the 
baby  into  the  study  this  afternoon,  and  lay  down 
with  her  upon  the  sofa.  Is  she  wholly  insensible 
of  a  father's  love,  of  his  arms  about  her  ?  Why 
gazes  she  so  fixedly,  so  sharply,  so  dully  ?  How 
interesting  these  first  few  days  !  She  will  soon  awake 
from  them.  She  will  return  no  more  to  them.  She 
will  come  to  her  consciousness  ;  she  will  laugh ;  she 
will  understand.  I  would  see  what  she  is  of  now, 
so  I  love  to  hold  her."  Again:  "I  set  it  upon  a 
pillow,  where  it  can  look  out  of  the  window.  What 
sees  it  ?  It  looks  fixedly." 

The  extracts  below,  from  a  sermon  on  the  Death 
of  Children,  reveals  still  farther  his  own  expe 
rience  :  — 

"  The  birth  of  a  child  is  an  epoch  in  a  family.  It 
is  the  Annus  Domini  of  every  mother's  chronicles. 
She  adjusts  all  dates  by  that  event.  That  nativity 
has  a  creative  power :  it  is  genius  incarnated  in 
infancy.  It  moulds  us  into  new  forms,  and  directs 
us  into  a  new  activity.  Every  child  resembles  Jesus 
in  this,  that  his  birth  is  an  advent  to  the  household ; 
in  every  room  a  new  light  shines,  and  all  give  glory 
to  God,  as  the  shepherds  did.  Even  the  maid-ser 
vant  smiles,  as  she  meets  you  at  the  door.  A  woman 
is  not  herself,  and  knows  not  what  she  is,  until  she 
becomes  a  mother.  One  feels  that  his  own  life  is 
more  valuable  after  the  birth  of  his  child  :  his  honesty, 
his  industry,  his  piety,  directly  rise  in  his  estima- 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  499 

tion,  while  his  vices  assume  a  corresponding  aspect 
of  disgust.  There  is  something,  if  it  be  not  wholly 
a  solecism  so  to  say,  something  awful  in  a  child. 
The  child  invests  life  with  a  new  interest.  In 
meteorology  is  the  dew-point,  that  at  which  dew 
begins  to  be  formed.  The  advent  of  the  child  is  the 
dew-point  of  the  world :  a  new  crystal  drop  attaches 
to  all  things  we  look  upon.  It  is  as  if  colored  stars 
and  bright  rays  appeared  on  the  chairs  and  tables. 
Whatever  is  beautiful  appears  more  beautiful ;  what 
ever  is  lovely,  more  lovely.  Work  is  less  hard, 
fatigue  less  oppressing,  to  one  who  is  a  parent  than 
to  one  who  is  not.  A  child  is  never  heavy  to  its 
parents.  One  tends  his  flowers  or  tills  his  garden 
with  greater  interest,  when  children  are  growing  up 
to  enjoy  them.  .  .  .  Children  create  a  strong  senti 
ment  of  home.  Men  hasten  to  their  homes  where 
their  children  are.  Many  cords  are  upon  men  in 
the  street ;  but  there  is  one  cord  stronger  than  all, 
that  which  draws  them  to  their  children  and  their 
homes.  .  .  .  The  simple  enjoyment  of  a  child  it  is  a 
luxury  to  behold.  It  attracts  everybody's  eyes.  To 
see  little  children  at  play  is  a  psalm  of  thanksgiving. 
It  is  God's  way  of  showing  us  what  happiness  is, 
and  we  distinguish  something  of  divinity  in  it.  It 
is  the  chord  on  which  great  nature  harps  to  us,  and 
our  hearts  respond  as  to  sweet  music.  .  .  .  The  first 
articulation  of  a  child,  the  objects  that  arrest  its  atten 
tion,  how  it  creeps,  how  it  gets  down  stairs,  what 
are  its  attractions  and  what  its  repulsions,  whom  it 
most  loves,  the  way  it  uses  its  hands,  all  engage  us 
sensibly.  We  never  tire  waiting  for  the  unfolding 


500  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

of  that  hidden  spirit ;  we  are  often  surprised  at  un 
expected  disclosures." 

And  such  a  study  were  Mr.  Judd's  own  children 
to  him  ;  so  carefully  did  he  watch  all  their  develop 
ments.  To  educate  them  rightly,  to  render  their 
physical  constitutions  healthy,  and  to  secure  their 
minds  from  prejudices,  false  ideas,  and  unworthy 
conventionalities,  was  the  subject  of  his  morning, 
noon-day,  and  evening  thoughts.  In  their  govern 
ment,  he  never  used  force,  never  suffered  any  cor 
poral  punishment  to  be  inflicted  on  them.  In  this, 
as  in  other  things,  he  believed  in  the  final  tri 
umph  of  the  omnipotent  power  of  love.  Though 
leniency  might,  for  the  existing  time,  be  attended 
with  some  disadvantages,  he  believed  in  the  end  its 
evils  were  far  less  than  those  of  severity.  One  part 
of  his  plan  was,  by  furnishing  his  children  with 
healthful  recreations  and  pleasant  employments,  to 
promote  their  happiness,  and  thus  prevent  the  risings 
of  ill-temper.  He  would,  as  far  as  possible,  leave 
them  to  their  own  will,  even  at  the  expense  of  a  lit 
tle  trouble ;  and  many  of  the  scenes  of  "  Memmy 
and  Bebby,"  at  the  bowl  of  Indian  meal  and  other 
wise,  as  well  as  the  description  of  their  persons, 
stood  very  well  for  the  portraiture  of  his  real  children. 
He  entered  with  them  into  their  plays,  encouraged 
out-door  sports,  and  got  up  many  little  devices  for 
their  amusement.  In  their  play-arbor,  he  prepared 
a  rude  table,  seats,  and  cupboard,  and  encouraged 
them  in  going  through  the  routine  of  childish 
entertainments,  washing  their  little  dishes,  and  the 
like.  He  was  not  willing  his  children  should,  while 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  501 

yet  in  their  tender  years,  suffer  the  confinement  of 
school,  or  apply  their  minds  to  the  study  of  books. 
He  thought  it  enough  that  they  should  continually 
drink  in  knowledge  from  their  observations  upon 
nature  and  every  thing  around  them.  He  would 
not  that  into  their  young  minds  should  be  thrust  any 
theological  dogmas,  but  only  that  they  should  imbibe 
the  pure  milk  of  gospel  simplicity.  Of  the  folly  and 
sin  of  inculcating  in  the  minds  of  children  a  passion 
for  dress,  a  love  of  finery  and  fashion,  or  of  fitting 
their  garments  in  a  manner  prejudicial  to  health,  he 
had  a  strong  sense,  and  conscientiously  insisted  upon 
a  severe  simplicity,  both  as  to  cut  and  material.  He 
wished  there  should  be  nothing  in  their  clothes  that 
should  particularly  attract  their  attention,  or  lead 
them  to  transfer  a  sense  of  the  prettiness  of  their 
dress  to  themselves. 

When  from  home,  the  father's  heart  was  with  his 
children ;  and,  before  they  were  able  to  read  a  word, 
he  commenced  addressing  them  letters. 

To  HIS  ELDEST  DAUGHTER,  WHEN  THREE  YEARS  OLD. 

"BOSTON,  Sept.  21,  1847. 

"  My  dear  Daughter,  —  How  do  you  do  this 
morning  ?  and  how  is  little  Lullaboo  ?  Do  you  not 
wish  to  see  papa  ?  and  would  you  not  like  to  kiss 
him  ?  He  wishes  to  see  you,  and  go  out  in  the  gar 
den  with  you,  and  get  some  potatoes.  Tell  Becca 
she  must  not  let  the  horse  eat  papa's  corn.  You 
must  go  to  bed  at  eleven  o'clock,  because  mamma 
wishes  you  to.  Little  Charlie  is  well;  he  drives 
about  the  street  at  a  great  rate.  Do  you  not  wish 


50£  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

papa  would  come  home,  so  you  could  see  him  in 
the  bed  in  the  morning  ?  Kiss  mamma  and  Lulla- 
boo  twenty  times  for  papa.  Papa  misses  you  very 
much.  Papa  will  come  home  by  and  by,  and  bring 
his  little  ba&ee  some  canrfee. 

' '  Your  affectionate  Father, 

"  S.  JUDD,  JUN." 

OTHEB  LETTEBS  TO  HIS  CHILDREN. 

"  NEW  YORK,  July  11,  1851. 

"  My  dear  little  Children,  L.  and  F.,  —  Your 
mother  will  show  you  on  the  map  where  New  York 
is.  It  is  a  great  city,  and  full  of  people,  and  full  of 
nice  things  for  children,  which,  if  I  had  money,  I 
should  like  to  buy  for  you.  But  you  must  remem 
ber  papa  has  not  much  money.  You  must  be  good 
children,  and  be  kind  to  each  other.  L.  must  not 
speak  sharp.  F.  must  do  what  her  mother  wishes. 
L.  must  take  good  care  of  the  hens,  feed  and  water 
them." 

"  BROOKLYN,  July  19,  1851. 

"  My  dear  little  L.  and  F.,  —  Papa  has  great  love 
for  you,  and  thinks  much  about  you.  He  wants  you 
to  be  very  nice  children,  and  be  very  kind  to  your 
mother,  and  not  trouble  H.  [the  servant].  You 
must  love  one  another  very  much,  and  let  each 
other  have  your  playthings. 

"  I  shall  not  bring  you  home  any  thing  but  books. 
I  have  two  or  three  little  ones  for  you  to  read  in. 
You  must  not  expect  any  toys.  How  is  '  Jenny 
Lind '  ?  Are  her  chickens  alive,  and  doing  well  ? 
How  is  the  turkey  ?  Does  it  grow  any  ? 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  503 

"  The  little  children  here  have  no  green  grass  to 
play  on,  as  you  have  ;  and  no  gardens,  no  hens,  no 
wheelbarrows.  Your  affectionate  Papa, 

"  SYLVESTER  JUDD." 

"  NORTHAMPTON,  July  24,  1851. 

' '  My  dear  little  Children,  —  How  much  I  wish 
you  were  here  with  papa,  to  see  grandpa  and  grand 
ma,  to  walk  in  the  garden,  and  see  the  plum-trees, 
and  the  peach-trees,  and  the  pear-trees !  Then  there 
are  chickens  bigger  than  yours.  Grandpa  said,  at 
dinner  to-day,  how  glad  he  should  be  to  see  J.  and 
L.  and  F. ;  and  grandma  said  so  too. 

"  The  trees  and  grounds  and  roads  and  walks  and 
mountains  and  meadows  in  Northampton  are  very 
beautiful.  Mamma  will  show  you  where  the  town 
is  on  the  map.  You  are  three  hundred  miles  from 
papa ;  yet  he  loves  you  very  much,  and  longs  to  see 
you  and  kiss  you,  and  longs  to  have  you  good 
children,  and  very  kind  to  your  mother,  and  very 
gentle  to  each  other." 

"  BELFAST,  Aug.  3,  1852. 

"  My  dear  Children,  —  I  arrived  here  after  a  ride 
of  ten  hours.  I  saw  bunch-berries  and  raspberries 
upon  the  road.  Mr.  P.,  at  whose  house  I  am  stay 
ing,  has  four  nice  children. 

"  You  will  love  one  another,  and  not  contradict, 
or  dispute,  or  lay  your  hands  quick  on  each  other. 
Feed  the  hens  twice  a  day,  and  water  them  once. 
Do  not  trouble  Laura  [the  servant] ;  help  her  all 

you  can.  Show  uncle  H i  where  you  keep  the 

matches.  You  must  do  what  aunt  A.  bids  you. 
Look  after  that  chicken  of  'Norma's.'  Say  your 


504  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

Pater-noster  with  Laura  and  aunt  A.  every  morn 
ing. 

"With  great  love,  and  God  to  bless  you,  I  am 

your  loving  father, 

"  SYLVESTER  JUDD." 

"  NEW  YOEK,  Oct.  18,  1852. 

"  Dear  L.,  —  Papa  wants  you  to  be  a  nice,  good 
girl.  Do  what  mamma  wants  you  to  do.  Be  very 
helpful,  now  papa  is  away.  You  were  a  very  good 
girl  in  Northampton.  Aunt  A.  was  very  sorry  you 
did  not  come  to  Brooklyn.  Dear  little  F.,  too, 
papa  often  thinks  of  you,  his  bright-eyed  little 
wogin.  He  wants  to  see  both  of  his  darlings  very 
much.  Cousin  C.  has  a  little  black  puppy,  that 
sleeps  with  him.  You  must  both  be  kind  to  your 
mother,  and  kind  to  Laura.  Give  papa's  remem 
brances  to  Laura.  Papa  should  be  glad  if  his  chil 
dren  would  write  to  him  about  the  chickens,  or  any 
thing  else.  Uncle  W.'s  'Beppo'  is  better." 

A  few  passages,  culled  here  and  there  from  other 
letters,  despatched,  when  absent,  to  his  home,  will 
close  this  chapter  :  — 

"BOSTON,  Dec.  5,  1849. 

"  Dear  J.,  —  ....  Tell  the  children  there  was  a 
little  boy  in  the  cars,  who,  as  night  came  on,  began 
to  cry,  '  Boo  hoo,  want  some  supper  ;  boo  hoo,  want 
a  drink  of  water,  boo  hoo.'  And  he  kept  this  up 
mile  after  mile.  I  gave  him  one  of  those  lozenges 
that  F.  put  in  my  pocket  Sunday  afternoon.  Another 
little  boy  chimed  in,  and  cried,  '  Boo  hoo,  want  to 
see  the  baby,  boo  hoo,  want  to  see  the  baby.'  I 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  505 

gave  this  one  a  lozenge,  that  quieted  him.  I  thought 
of  our  own  dear  little  ones ;  and  these  little  ones 
pulled  away  at  my  heart-strings  quite  lustily,  and 
rung  the  chords  of  feeling  in  a  smart  way. 

11  Is  it  cold  at  Riverside  ?  Do  you  miss  anybody  ? 
"Would  you  be  happier  if  this  noon  somebody  sat 
opposite  you  at  the  table,  and  cut  up  the  children's 
meat? 

"  Give  a  thousand  of  loves  to  the  children,  all  you 
can  spare  from  yourself.  Tell  L.  papa  wishes  her 
to  be  very  good,  not  to  dispute  with  C.,  not  to  trou 
ble  F.,  always  to  mind  her  mother.  Tell  F.  papa  is 
in  Boston,  will  be  home  pretty  soon,  wants  to  see 
his  little  children." 

"  Bath,  June  5,  1848.  —  There  is  a  little  girl  here 
who  reminds  me  of  L. ;  not  that  the  resemblance  is 
striking,  but,  in  the  absence  of  any  thing  of  the  sort, 
I  am  glad  to  take  up  with  this.  Ask  L.  if  '  she  is 
capable  of  judging  '  what  this  means. 

"  I  went  by  a  candy-store,  and  saw  great  bunches 
of  red,  blue,  and  white  candy  at  the  windows,  and 
all  sorts  of  sugar  things  in  glasses.  Could  I  help 
thinking  about  my  children?  could  I  help  buying 
some  for  them  ?  What  single  mitigation  is  there  to 
absence,  if  one  may  not,  in  imagination,  be  affording 
those  little  pleasures  to  his  family,  and  thinking  how 
the  little  ones  will  come  round  him  when  he  gets 
home,  looking  so  wistful,  and  L.  at  length  venturing 
to  speak,  and  F.  so  moving  in  her  dumbness,  and 
the  dear  wife  even  willing  to  eat  some  ?  well,  well." 

"  New  York,  July,  1851.  —  ....  I  hope  you  will 
have  health  and  heart.  There  is  no  place  to  me  like 

43 


506  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

home.  There  are  no  persons  whom  I  value  as  my 
wife  and  little  ones." 

"  The  Parsonage,  Aug.  12,  1852.  —  I  have  writ 
ten  you  three  letters,  one  to  Niagara,  two  to  Sara 
toga,  not  one  of  which  I  suppose  you  will  get ;  and 
now  to  sit  down,  and,  as  it  were,  re-write  what  I 
have  written,  is  not  the  best  way  of  doing  the  thing. 
Now  in  your  letter  dated  last  Sunday  at  Niagara, 
you  say,  direct  to  the  Revere  House,  where  you  may 
be,  Heaven  knows  when.  So  I  must  write,  not  to 
you,  but  to  space  and  time  and  vague  emptiness. 
And  you  will  be  almost  home  when  you  get  there. 
What  will  you  care  then  about  the  chickens  or 
flowers  ;  or  of  what  use  to  tell  you  the  children 
to-day  are  well,  which  is  the  fact  nevertheless  ?  What 
may  happen  between  this  and  that  time,  I  cannot 
tell. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  to-day  in  —  Heaven  knows 
where.  I  hope  you  enjoy  yourself  very  much,  — 
Montreal,  Saratoga,  Lake  George,  or  whatever  it  be. 
At  least,  it  is  where  I  am  not,  but  where  I  would 
like  to  be.  .  .  .  You  will  come  home  fresh  and  warm. 
There  is  no  need  of  growing  old.  If  we  keep  our 
hearts  right,  we  are  always  fresh,  always  in  summer 
time.  Our  years  will  have  a  perpetual  verdure.  .  .  . 

"  The  children  have  been  good,  quiet,  docile, 
busy,  happy.  They  have  been  so  because  I  have  let 
them  alone.  I  would  be  about  my  children  as  a  gen 
tle  influence,  not  as  a  special  governor. 

"  Whether  it  shall  ever  be  mine  to  see  what  you 
have  seen,  and  to  go  any  where  without  feeling  each 
cent  I  spend,  God  only  knoAvs." 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  507 

"  Northampton,  Oct.  4,  1852.  — ...  This  is  North 
ampton,  my  old  home.  I  have  sat  in  the  south-east 
chamber ;  the  mountains,  the  trees,  the  luxuriance 
and  beauty,  spread  before  me  as  of  old.  There  I 
had  my  dreams  of  youth ;  there  this  warm,  aspiring 
heart  indulged  its  early  visions.  These  old  dreams 
and  visions  come  clustering  round  me  now,  seeming 
to  ask,  <  How  is  it  with  you  ?  '  My  heart  swells 
within  me.  My  soul  is  pervaded  with  the  tenderest 
emotion.  Each  tree-top  waves  a  strange  and  almost 
melancholy  consonance  to  me.  I  wish  you  were 
here.  Into  what  was  my  world  of  the  future,  you 
have  come.  You  have  flown  down  as  the  sweet 
spirit  that  was  to  be  the  sister  of  my  heart,  and 
sharer  of  my  life.  Many  kisses  to  F.  Her  tears, 
that  ran  when  we  left,  long  flowed  in  my  soul. 
She  did  not  want  to  have  us  go.  She  is  happy  now." 

"  Oct.  5,  1852.  —  ...  The  tendency  of  domestic 
harmony  is  to  make  all  other  things  harmonious. 
The  family  is  a  certain  root  and  source  of  all  that 
we  are  in  this  world.  'Tis  the  foundation,  in  an 
important  sense,  of  the  church,  of  the  state,  and  of 
all  right  being.  .  .  .  We  are  one,  not  two ;  one  in 
life,  one  in  emotion,  one  in  property,  one  in  our 
children,  one  in  God.  There  may  be  variety  in  unity, 
individuality  in  communion.  The  idea  advanced  by 
some,  that  marriage  is  only  a  mode  in  which  man 
and  woman  are  to  develop  their  individuality,  and 
confirm  their  independence,  —  that  is,  make  them 
selves  both  as  detached  and  independent  of  each 
other  as  possible,  —  seems  to  me  not  right. 

"  I  cannot  look  upon  a  landscape  without  wishing 


508  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

you  to  look  too,  or  sit  at  the  Lord's  table  without 
wishing  you  to  sit  too,  or  eat  a  peach  without  wish 
ing  you  to  eat  too,  or  take  a  ride  without  wishing 
you  to  ride.  This  is  my  nature ;  a  social  one,  and 
most  social  in  what  I  feel  most.  Being  at  North 
ampton  reminds  me  of  the  solitary  years  of  my 
being ;  of  deep,  consuming  loneliness,  and  too  of  a 
solitariness  that  became  a  pleasure,  my  food  and 
drink  almost.  You  were  the  one  who,  as  I  said 
yesterday,,  alighted  on  my  path,  —  flew,  as  it  seemed, 
from  heaven  into  my  soul.  There  continue  still. 
There,  dearest  one,  abide  ever.  God  bless  and  keep 
you,  and  F.,  and  the  unborn." 

"  Northampton,  Oct.  8,  1852.  — ...  I  wish  you 
and  F.  were  here ;  the  walks  are  so  pleasant,  and  all 
things  so  beautiful.  I  tell  L.,  '  Here  I  used  to  live 
when  a  little  boy ;  there  is  a  tree  I  got  chestnuts 
under,'  &c.  &c.  The  atmosphere  is  almost  oppres 
sive  with  memories  and  sentiments,  and  the  spirit  of 
our  earlier  life  sings  in  all  the  trees.  .  .  . 

"  Shall  I  not  have  a  letter  this  afternoon  ?  How 
is  it  about  the  Parsonage  ?  Is  the  place  a  holy  one 
to  you  ?  If  sentiment  and  love  ever  went  into  a 
place,  they  have  gone  into  that.  The  walks,  the 
trees,  each  outlook,  each  of  wljiat  artists  call  '  effect,' 
are  all  results  of  our  own  hearts  and  minds.  There 
is  feeling  everywhere.  Even  the  little  open  space 
from  our  bedroom  north-window  has  a  meaning :  it 
was  that  we  might  look  over  to  your  mother's,  and 
she  look  on  us.  ...  I  think  of  the  Parsonage  and  its 
inhabitants,  of  the  church  and  its  members,  with 
gratitude,  love,  and  prayer.  May  our  earthly  life, 


DOMESTIC    RELATIONS.  509 

in  all  its  forms,  fit  us  for  the  heavenly !  May  sadness 
and  sorrow  be  the  ministers  of  our  peace,  of  deep, 
eternal,  mutual,  and  joyful  reunion,  embrace,  har 
mony,  love !  " 

"  Northampton,  Oct.  9,  1852.  —  I  got  your  letter 
yesterday  afternoon ;  went  up  into  that  chamber  to 
read  it.  I  took  a  cigar,  sat  and  smoked;  looked 
out  upon  the  luxuriant  world  about  me,  —  golden 
maples,  elms  lifting  their  majesty  to  the  sun,  apple- 
trees  studded  with  high-colored  fruit ;  all  things 
soft,  warm,  deep,  beautiful,  soothing.  I  only  wished, 
instead  of  your  letter,  I  had  yourself." 

"  New  York,  Oct.  15,  1852.  —  ...  I  am  no  monk, 
no  ascetic,  no  solitaire  ;  my  being  thrives  and  grows 
in  the  atmosphere  of  a  most  sympathetic  love.  .  .  . 
Got  one  or  two  little  French  and  German  primers  for 
L.  and  F.  .  .  .  This  will  reach  you,  I  hope,  to-mor 
row  afternoon.  May  it  find  you  well,  and  be  pleasant 
to  your  heart !  You  cannot  imagine,  or  rather  you 
can  imagine,  how  much  I  think  of  you  in  this  long 
absence.  Every  night  I  ejaculate  a  prayer  to  God 
for  you  and  for  the  dear  children.  I  think  of  you 
as  the  dear  guardian  angel,  in  my  absence,  of  what 
is  to  me  the  most  beautiful"  spot  on  earth,  the  Par 
sonage  ;  as  one  who  in  spirit  sympathizes  with  all 
I  here  see  and  enjoy." 

"New  York,  Oct.  19,  1852.  — ...  I  do  not  won 
der  at  J.  C.'s  sadness.  With  none  to  love  us,  and 
care  for  us,  and  do  for  us,  we  are  the  wretchedest  of 
beings.  Religion  cannot,  and  never  was  designed 
to,  cure  all  the  ills  of  life,  —  I  mean,  independently 
of  life.  It  was  designed  to  make  us  lead  a  good 

43* 


510  DOMESTIC    RELATIONS. 

life,  and  so  cure  the  ills  we  are  subject  to.  It 
is  a  part  of  religion,  that  we  love  one  another, 
and  make  one  another  happy.  So  I  have  always 
believed;  so  I  have  always  preached.  We  have 
not  any  religion,  so  to  say,  when  we  neglect  one 
another.  This  is  the  cardinal  mistake  of  all  the 
sects,  as  I  view  it :  it  makes  of  religion  one  thing, 
and  life  wholly  another  thing.  We  are  most  reli 
gious  when  we  love  one  another  most.  We  are 
most  religious,  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  both  as 
to  God  and  as  to  man,  when  we  love  one  another 
most." 

"  Baltimore,  Oct.  24,  1852.  — ....  Though  I  am 
a  minister  and  a  traveller,  I  can  never  forget  that  I 
am  a  man,  a  lover,  a  husband.  The  sentimental 
part  of  my  nature  is  deep, 'strong,  pervasive.  It  is 
to  me  almost  religion.  .  .  .  Never  did  I  feel  more 
thankful  than  at  the  idea  of  being  on  my  return 
home.  What  is  there  in  the  wide  world  like  our 
little  cot,  our  simple  home,  our  children,  ourselves, 
our  love  !  —  Your  doting  and  devoted  Husband, 

"  SYLVESTER." 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

DEPARTURE     FROM    EARTH. 


IN  the  passing  history  of  Mr.  Judd's  life,  we  left 
him,  after  his  then  recent  return  from  the  Baltimore 
Convention  to  the  home  so  doated  on,  with  high 
hope  and  vigor  making  successful  efforts  in  carrying 
forward  among  his  people  his  plan  of  the  church ; 
with  a  long  list  of  lyceum -engagements  for  the  win 
ter  and  spring  of  1853 ;  and,  in  the  full  tide  of 
life  and  activity,  on  the  eve  of  departure  for  Boston 
to  present  at  the  Thursday  Lecture  his  idea  of  the 
"Birthright  Church." 

But,  ah!  spontaneously  float  back  upon  us  in 
mournful,  chilling  echoes,  the  prophetic  tones  of 
his  own  last  lines  in  verse :  — 

"  So,  arrowy,  we  fall, 
In  all  the  bliss  of  being,  rippling  on  ; 


Nor  medium  flights  shall  tempt  his  vigor  more  !  " 

And  brief  the  record  that  remains. 

On  the  evening  of  Monday,  January  3,  1853, 
after  having  been  almost  incessantly  engaged  during 
the  day  in  condensing  his  cherished  views  into  the 
Discourse  to  be  delivered  in  Boston  on  the  6th,  he 


512          DEPARTURE  FROM  EARTH. 

left  his  home  between  eight  and  nine  o'clock  for  an 
hotel  near  the  railroad  depot  from  which  he  was  to 
take  the  cars  very  early  the  next  morning.  On 
arriving,  he  sat  an  hour  or  so  in  the  private  parlor 
of  the  proprietor,  who  was  one  of  his  parish 
ioners,  chatting  pleasantly  and  appearing  quite  well. 
About  ten  he  retired,  without  complaining  of  indis 
position. 

But  the  weather  was  severe,  his  room  not  so 
warm  as  the  one  to  which  he  was  accustomed, 
and  his  bed  extremely  cold.  The  nervous  energy 
of  his  system  was  very  much  exhausted  by  his 
long-continued  mental  excitement.  At  tea  with  his 
family  that  evening,  his  mind  seemed  abstracted, 
and  his  taking  of  food  quite  mechanical.  His  wife, 
on  parting  with  him,  noticed  looks  of  paleness  and 
fatigue  that  left  on  her  heart  an  impression  of  deep 
sadness.  His  physical  system  had  never  possessed 
much  power  of  resistance  against  attacks  tending  to 
disorder  it.  Being  thus  in  a  condition  which  placed 
his  bodily  well-being  at  the  mercy  of  any  adverse 
circumstances  on  which  he  might  chance  to  fall, 
immediately  on  going  to  bed  he  was  seized  with 
severe  chills  which  precluded  sleep,  but  which  he 
endured  until  about  three  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
when  he  was  also  attacked  with  violent  pain.  At 
five  o'clock  a  physician  was  called,  who  considered 
his  symptoms  as  indicating  a  slight  inflammation  of 
the  bowels.  The  morning  found  him  in  a  state  of  so 
great  exhaustion  as  hardly  to  be  able  to  open  his  eyes 
or  utter  a  word.  The  most  he  could  say  to  his  wife, 
as  she  came  in  haste  to  see  him,  was,  that  he  had 


DEPARTURE  FROM  EARTH.         513 

"had  a  dreadful  night."  "Poor  papa,  poor  papa!" 
was  all  he  could  say  to  his  little  girl ;  and  to  his 
sister,  he  simply  said,  "I  am  so  disappointed.'* 
And  this  disappointment,  of  going  on  to  deliver  his 
sermon  in  Boston,  and  his  lyceum-lectures  in  Salem 
and  Gloucester,  seemed,  in  the  first  hours  of  his 
illness,  more  bitter  than  the  distress  of  body  he 
suffered.  Sick  as  he  was,  he  could  not  give  up  the 
idea  that  the  next  day  he  might  be  able  to  proceed. 
He  undoubtedly  felt  the  detention  all  the  more,  as 
the  winter  previous  he  had  been  prevented,  by  an 
injury  received  from  a  fall,  from  meeting  an  en 
gagement  to  lecture  in  Worcester. 

The  remedies  applied  that  day  and  the  following 
one  gave  him  no  particular  relief.  On  Thursday,  a 
second  physician  was  called,  who  agreed  with  the 
first  in  thinking  the  attack  one  from  which  he  would 
in  a  few  days  recover.  Yet,  on  this  and  the  next 
day,  he  had  a  recurrence  of  terrible  chills,  followed 
by  stupor  and  profuse  perspiration ;  and  his  own 
impression  was  that  his  disease  was  very  deeply 
seated. 

But  on  Saturday,  Jan.  8,  although  his  symptoms 
were  not  essentially  better,  the  weather  being  mild 
and  favorable,  he  was  warmly  enveloped,  placed  in 
a  close  carriage,  and  removed  to  his  home.  While 
being  borne  from  the  hotel,  he  was  heard  by  an 
attendant  lowly  murmuring  kindly  adieus  to  the 
room  he  had  occupied,  and  to  his  hospitable  host 
and  hostess,  who  had  made  many  personal  sacrifices 
for  his  accommodation,  and  rendered  him  every  care 
and  attention  in  their  power.  His  pleasant  study 


514          DEPARTURE  FROM  EARTH. 

had  been  fitted  up  for  the  reception  of  the  poor 
sufferer,  with  every  comfort  and  convenience  that 
the  most  solicitous  affection  could  devise.  Changed, 
indeed,  was  he  from  the  condition  in  which  he  quitted 
that  spot  a  few  days  before  ;  but,  looking  around  on 
the  old,  fond,  familiar  objects,  his  countenance  bright 
ened  up  with  an  expression  of  delight.  The  care 
of  his  people  was  forcibly  brought  to  mind.*  He 
requested  that  the  church  should  be  opened  the 
next  day,  and  gave  some  directions  as  to  the  sabbath- 
school.  From  this  removal,  which  had  been  under 
taken  with  much  anxiety  as  to  the  result,  he  did  not 
apparently  suffer  any  detriment. 

The  early  part  of  the  second  week  of  his  illness, 
his  physicians  thought  the  crisis  of  his  disease  was 
past,  and  used  measures  to  restore  his  strength. 
But,  as  day  followed  day,  there  was  no  decided 
amendment.  His  system  seemed  to  possess  no  re 
cuperative  power.  The  dreaded  chills  frequently 
returned;  and  his  prostration  was  excessive.  In 
sleep,  the  natural  fertility  of  his  imagination  dis 
played  itself  in  revels  amid  the  most  charming  scenes 
of  physical  and  spiritual  beauty.  Those  "visions," 
as  he  called  them,  left  a  deep  impression  on  his 
waking  hours,  which  he  sometimes  strove  to  de 
scribe.  At  one  time,  he  said  he  was  introduced  by 
"  a  man  in  the  eastern  country,"  as  he  expressed  it, 
into  all  the  glowing  richness  of  oriental  splendor  ; 
but  he  told  him  "  all  he  wanted  was  rest,"  A  sister- 
in-law  thus  records  what  he  said  to  her  of  these 
dreamy  fancies  :  "  '  O  F.  !  I  have  had  such  wonder 
ful  visitations  since  I  have  been  sick,  such  glorious, 


DEPARTURE  FROM  EARTH.         515 

such  transcendent  visions,  I  have  almost  become  a 
believer  in  spiritual  communications  in  a  moment. 
Do  you  know  anybody  that  understands  the  philoso 
phy  of  these  things  ? '  I  told  him  no,  and  asked 
what  was  the  form  of  his  visions  ;  if  he  saw  persons. 
'  No  ;  not  persons,  but  states  of  being.  They  seem 
to  be  sub-local.  I  have  been  on  the  tops  of  the 
mountains  before ;  but  now  I  have  been  under  the 
mountains.  Oh  !  I  would  be  willing  to  be  sick  a 
month  for  one  such  night  as  I  have  had.' '  He 
seemed  to  labor  in  vain  to  set  before  the  mind  of 
another  the  pictures  impressed  upon  his  own ;  and, 
not  only  in  this,  but  in  other  connections,  it  was  not 
a  little  amusing,  while  at  the  same  time  sad,  to  see 
him  in  his  weakness,  and  in  the  paucity  of  language 
at  his  control,  attempt,  by  words  new-coined  and 
newly  combined,  to  body  forth  his  thought. 

Frequently  a  little  of  his  natural  humor  would 
appear,  as  in  addressing,  in  somewhat  of  a  singing 
tone,  one  or  two  young  ladies,  his  relatives,  who 
were  attending  him,  as  "sweet  sisters  of  charity," 
and  another  friend  as  u  aunt  Good-one."  He  often 
spoke  jocosely  to  his  physicians  about  their  bad 
treatment  of  him ;  and  one  morning,  when  one  of 
them  told  him  he  looked  better,  he  said,  "  I  am  like 
the  dog  which  the  boys  beat,  and  then  said  he 
looked  better." 

He  frequently  took  pains  to  send  kind  messages 
to  his  neighbors.  He  was  very  grateful  for  atten 
tions,  and  considerate  of  the  convenience  of  others. 
The  barber  came  one  time  when  he  did  not  feel  as 
though  he  could  just  then  receive  his  services  ;  but, 


516          DEPARTURE  FROM  EARTH. 

on  being  told  he  could  wait,  Mr.  Judd  replied, 
"  Oh !  no  ;  he  has  so  much  to  do  ;  he  is  so  busy." 
He  said  to  his  wife,  one  day,  "  I  shall  have  a  great 
deal  to  tell  you  when  I  get  well,  but  cannot  now,  I 
am  so  weak,  —  how  our  whole  life  has  been  repro 
duced  in  such  beautiful  forms,  the  elm-trees,  &c." 
She  told  him  aunt  H.  thought  he  was  better.  He 
replied,  "  It  is  only  because  I  am  submissive  now, 
and  yesterday  I  was  not.  I'll  tell  you  when  I  get 

well."  His  allusions  to  his  brother  H 1  were 

frequent,  and  always  with  deep  feeling. 

One  evening  he  asked  to  have  something  read 
from  Dante  or  Milton ;  then  a  hymn  from  Watts, 
and  the  twenty -third  Psalm,  both  of  which  he  enjoyed 
extremely,  and  frequently  uttered  ejaculations  while 
hearing  them. 

The  first  part  of  the  third  week  brought  no  mate 
rial  change,  and  his  physicians  did  not  consider  his 
situation  alarming.  Yet  he  could  take  no  nourish 
ment  ;  his  chills  were  again  and  again  repeated ;  his 
sleep  was  disturbed,  and  his  mind  sometimes  a  little 
wandered  on  waking.  His  excessive  weakness  con 
tinued  ;  nothing  raised  him,  nothing  made  him  any 
better.  In  reply  to  the  remark  that  he  looked  tired, 
"Yes,"  said  he,  "that  is  it,  tired  to  death."  He 
said  also,  "  I  can  hardly  pray ;  but  there  is  one  pas 
sage  of  Scripture  I  think  of  a  great  deal,  —  '  Ye  shall 
neither  at  this  mountain  nor  yet  at  Jerusalem  wor 
ship  the  Father  ;  .  .  .  but  the  true  worshippers  shall 
worship  him  in  spirit  and  in  truth.' '  The  last  of 
the  week,  more  unfavorable  symptoms  appeared. 

On  sabbath,  January  23,  he  expressed  regret  that 


DEPARTURE  FROM  EARTH.          517 

he  was  not  able  to  take  his  accustomed  seat  at  his 
sister's  tea-table  on  that  day.  He  conversed  with  a 
friend  who  called  in  the  afternoon,  and  said  many 
rational  and  many  incoherent  things.  He  had  seemed 
all  through  his  illness  to  study  the  probabilities  of 
its  termination,  and  to  have  many  thoughts  of  his 
departure,  but  had  not  directly  alluded  to  it.  Re 
ferring  to  the  subject  at  this  time,  he  said :  "  It  is 
not  that  I  am  afraid  of  death  and  the  solemn  here 
after  ;  it  is  that  life  has  so  much  for  us  to  do.  Peo 
ple  tell  me  I  have  been  doing  too  much ;  but  you 
know  how  it  is,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  stopping." 
His  friend,  Mr.  Waterston,  who  had  supplied  his 
desk  that  day,  called  in  the  evening  ;  but  he  was  too 
weak  to  see  him.  "  It  is  one  of  the  miseries  of  my 
condition,"  said  he,  "that  I  am  not  able  to  see 
my  brother-minister." 

On  Monday,  the  24th,  his  strength  somewhat 
revived,  and  he  seemed  more  like  himself.  He  sat 
up  in  bed  for  an  hour,  desired  the  window -blinds  to 
be  opened  that  he  might  look  out,  and  expressed 
something  of  his- usual  interest  about  the  coming  in 
of  the  railroad-cars.  He  also  saw  Mr.  Waterston  for 
a  moment  this  forenoon ;  he  took  his  hand,  looked 
up  in  his  eyes  earnestly,  and  said,  "  I  am  sorry  I 
cannot  say  much  to  you  ;  you  see  how  it  is ;  but 
next  summer  you  must  come  again,  and  go  to 
Moosehead.  I  am  very  sick,  but  hope  I  shall  be 
better."  He  was  very  much  agitated  by  this  inter 
view.  The  latter  part  of  the  day,  his  bad  symptoms 
returned^  and  continued,  with  no  abatement,  through 
the  night. 

44 


518          DEPARTURE  FROM  EARTH. 

Tuesday  morning,  the  25th,  found  him  in  a  very 
alarming  condition ;  his  breathing  labored,  his  fea 
tures  sharpened,  and  he  scarcely  recognizing  his 
most  familiar  friends.  He,  however,  awoke  to  more 
consciousness  in  the  course  of  the  forenoon,  and 
seemed  himself  very  solicitous  concerning  his  state. 
About  noon,  he  sent  an  urgent  request  to  his  father- 
in-law,  that  he  would  come  to  him  directly ;  and  on 
his  arrival,  with  difficulty  of  articulation,  but  great 
earnestness  of  manner,  he  said,  "  Did  you  ever  know 
any  one  as  low  as  I  am  to  get  well  ?  I  want  some 
one  candidly  to  tell  me  how  I  am.  It  is  not  that  I 
am  afraid  to  die.  I  bow  in  perfect  submission  to  the 
Infinite  "Will."  On  Mr.  "W.'s  replying  he  had 
known  persons  as  ill  recover,  but  did  not  know  how 
it  would  be  with  him,  "  Oh !  I  understand  it,"  said 
he :  "  if  I  can  get  well,  I  shall  be  glad ;  but  if  not, 
why,  let  it  go."  He  spoke  tenderly  of  his  wife  and 
little  children ;  and  seemed  happy  that  he  could  say, 
in  regard  to  the  latter,  that  he  had  "  never  struck 
them  a  blow."  In  the  afternoon,  he  asked  for  the 
little  orphan-daughter  of  his  brother ;  and  she,  with 
his  own  little  girls,  all  rosy  and  fresh,  came  and  stood 
by  his  bedside.  He  looked  at  them  a  few  moments 
with  satisfaction ;  said,  "  Healthy  children,  nice  little 
children ; "  and,  too  weak  to  bear  their  presence  but 
a  few  moments,  soon  added,  "  Now  you  may  run 
out." 

Knowing  that  Mr.  F.,  one  of  his  church,  was  in 
the  house,  he  expressed  the  wish  that  he  should 
come  into  his  room,  and  pray  with  him ;  but  implied 
that  he  was  too  weak  to  speak  with  him.  As  Mr. 


DEPARTURE  FROM  EARTH.         519 

F.  knelt  by  his  side  in  devout  supplication,  he  joined 
in  it  with  manifest  feeling  and  satisfaction,  ejaculat 
ing  "amen."  Through  the  night,  he  slept  some; 
and  his  mind  was  in  a  natural  state,  though  it  was 
difficult  for  him  to  speak,  and  he  said  but  little. 

And  now,  all  that  remains  to  tell  may  be  given  in 
the  words  of  one  who  watched  these  last  night-hours 
beside  him.  "  I  sat  a  little  while,"  she  writes,  "  in 
the  rocking-chair,  by  the  parlor-fire,  and  heard  sweet 
sounds  like  music  in  the  distance.  Probably  this 
was  the  wind ;  yet  I  could  not  but  connect  it  with 
the  music  of  heaven,  feeling  how  near  we  were  to 
the  spiritual  world.  When  daylight  came,  the 
morning  of  the  26th,  we  saw  that  our  dear  brother 
was  evidently  very  near  his  spirit's  home.  I  felt 
that  he  could  not  stay  with  us  through  the  day ;  yet 
was  he  quite  unconscious  of  it.  Mrs.  J.  had  tried 
to  lead  him  to  speak  of  his  feelings,  and  asked 
whether  he  was  resigned  to  his  departure.  He 
replied  fyes,'  but  said  nothing  more.  How  she 
longed  for  some  parting  words  !  how  much  he  would 
have  had  to  say  to  her,  if  strength  had  been  given 
him  in  those  last  hours  !  She  wished  him  to  know 
he  was  going  to  leave  this,  his  earthly  abode,  and 
requested  a  physician  to  communicate  to  him  dis 
tinctly  the  intelligence.  It  came  upon  him,  at  that 
moment,  like  an  unexpected,  an  overpowering  stroke, 
rudely  sundering  all  his  tenderest  ties  to  earth,  and 
causing  the  death-struggle  of  his  affection's  heart. 
Bound  as  he  was  by  deathless  love  to  the  particular 
objects  of  his  attachment,  and  enlisted  as  was  his 
soul  in  carrying  out  his  great  idea  for  making  more 


520          DEPARTURE  FROM  EARTH. 

life-giving  and  extensive  the  holy  principles  of  a 
true  Christianity,  it  was  indeed  to  him  '  hard  part 
ing.'  He  broke  out  in  piercing  tones  of  anguish, 
(  Oh,  my  God  !  I  love  thee,  —  I  love  heaven,  —  I 
love  its  glories  !  —  but  my  dear  brothers  and  sisters, 
—  my  parents,  —  my  wife  and  children,  —  I  love 
you,  —  how  can  I!  how  can  I!9  But  he  soon 
became  quiet,  as  he  had  been  before  the  announce 
ment,  although  much  exhausted  by  his  emotions 
and  his  efforts  to  speak.  I  sang  '  Majestic  sweetness 
sits  enthroned,'  and  '  All  is  well.'  J.  read  passages 
from  the  New  Testament.  His  children  were  re 
ferred  to ;  but,  too  much  overcome  to  bear  more 
then,  he  said,  *  Let  the  dear  children  come  to-mor 
row,  —  little  children  come  to-morrow,'  evidently 
not  thinking  his  hour  so  near.  He  said  to  us  who 
were  about  him,  '  Cover  me  up  warm,  keep  my 
utterance  clear.'  He  afterwards  added,  l  Pin  doing 
well,9  —  and,  in  a  few  moments,  with  but  a  slight 
indication  of  the  transition,  his  spirit  passed  away." 
And  who  shall  say  that  convoys  of  loving  spirits 
had  not  been  circling  that  couch  with  heavenly 
music,  while  waiting  the  moment  of  his  release  ; 
and  were  at  hand  to  receive  a  kindred  spirit,  and 
conduct  it  to  a  realm  of  fresh  existence,  where  all 
its  powers  might  unfold  and  bloom  for  ever  under 
the  full  light  of  Infinite  Love,  —  that  Love  «xra 
which  it  had  ever  fed,  and  to  which  it  was  so  fully 
assimilated ;  to  that  heaven  it  had  ever  contemplated 
as  so  glorious,  and  to  which  its  highest  aspirations 
had  ever  risen  ?  And,  though  lost  to  human  sight, 
who  shall  affirm,  that,  with  the  eye  of  the  spirit 


DEPARTURE  FROM  EARTH.         521 

unsealed,  we  might  not  behold  our  dear  departed 
ones  hovering  round  us  on  ministries  of  love,  and, 
with  tranquil  look,  gently  soothing  our  grief,  as  their 
enlarged  vision  descries  the  final  blessed  issue,  even 
to  ourselves,  of  the  afflictive  blow ;  and  perceives 
that  "  what  to  us,  at  the  moment,  seems  nothing  but 
privation  will,  somewhat  later,  assume  the  aspect  of 
a  guide  or  genius  ;  "  that  "  we  only  let  our  angels 
go,  that  archangels  may  come  in  "  ? 

Although  weakness  and  suffering  did  not  allow 
Mr.  Judd  to  speak  much  of  this  great  era  of  exist 
ence  when  upon  its  immediate  confines,  it  was  a 
theme  on  which  his  mind  had  ever  dwelt  with  fami 
liarity,  through  all  the  years  of  his  earthly  life.  His 
sermons  were  full  of  allusions  to  it,  and  always  of  a 
kind  to  cheer  the  mourning  heart,  and  light  up  the 
apparent  darkness.  To  his  own  removal,  he  often 
adverted  in  them.  In  one  he  says :  "  I  am  not  pre 
tending  to  conceal  the  fact,  that  often,  in  dying,  there 
is  something  painful,  and  even  mournful:  I  only 
wish  to  lighten  the  mind  in  respect  of  that  apprehen 
sion.  I  think  I  am  in  the  way  of  duty,  if  I  seek 
to  disarm  even  the  physical  part  of  death  of  as  much 
of  its  terror  as  I  can.  I  would  pronounce,  if  it  may 
be,  a  benedicite  on  all  this  grief  and  gloom.  I 
know,  among  other  things,  it  is  sad  to  think  of  dying, 
when  we  feel  that  we  have  so  much  to  live  for.  I 
experience  this  sensation  as  strongly  as  any  one  of 
you.  I  feel  sometimes  as  if  I  had  hardly  begun  to 
live.  Duties  and  accomplishments  dilate  before  my 
eye  like  new  universes.  Yet  when  I  think  how 
many  have  died,  just  at  this  stage  of  things,  I  see 

44* 


DEPARTURE    FROM    EARTH. 

that  I  am  not  alone.  Warren  died  at  the  first  battle 
of  the  Revolution.  Summerfield  died  in  the  midst 
of  souls,  whom,  so  to  say,  he  had  just  begun  to  con 
vert."  He  often  referred  to  this  great  change  in 
his  letters,  and  for  it  his  mind  always  seemed  in 
habitual  preparation.  In  a  state  of  illness,  he  made 
the  following  entry  in  his  Journal :  — 

"May  13,  1838. — This  may  be  my  last  record 
here.  I  fear  not  death,  —  can  cheerfully  commend 
my  soul  to  God.  World,  —  I  can  bid  it  farewell. 
The  beautiful  in  it,  I  can  behold  for  the  last  time. 
Friends,  I  meet  you  in  a  better  world.  My  soul 
is  at  peace.  God  is  good  to  me." 

And  it  was  in  the  very  last  discourse  he  ever 
preached,  that  occur  these  words,  so  remarkable  in 
their  coincidence  :  "  Will  it  be  you  that  shall  next 
perform  the  last  sad  duties  to  the  cold  remains  of 
your  pastor  ?  "  —  words  whose  resonance  still  seemed 
to  linger  among  the  Christmas  evergreens  that  first 
received  them,  when,  a  few  brief  days  afterwards, 
mingled  with  mourning  weeds,  was  verified  a  sad 
response. 

The  Pastor,  in  "  Philo,"  too,  utters  the  poet's  own 
heart-felt  words,  in  saying  :  — 

"  Above  the  gloomy  grave  our  hope  ascends, 
E'en  as  the  moon  above  the  silent  mountains. 
These  partings  are  reunions  in  the  skies; 
To  that  great  company  of  holy  ones 

We  go ; 

In  shadowy  void,  betwixt  two  worlds,  we  stand ; 
The  distant  All-Light  opes  its  wicker  gate, 
The  future  beams  auroral,  flesh  expires, 
The  soul  begins  its  perfect  day." 


DEPARTURE    FROM    EARTH. 


But  earth  was  now  left  behind.  Tender  friends 
arranged  for  its  last  rest  the  cherished  form  that 
alone  remained,  and  placed  it  in  apparent  comfort 
upon  his  couch,  as  if  in  quiet,  natural  slumber.  A 
winter  rose  lay  by  his  side  ;  a  simple  circlet,  twined 
by  loving  hands  from  his  own  fresh  evergreens  and 
house-geraniums,  was  the  symbol  of  his  pillow.  No 
sound  of  preparation  of  funeral  weeds  disturbed  the 
quiet  scene ;  no  air  of  gloominess  and  dread  was 
thrown  around.  Freely  as  when  their  father  was 
ever  ready  to  greet  their  entrance  to  that  study  with 
a  welcome  smile,  the  children  passed  in  and  out, 
but  with  a  wistful  gaze,  a  chastened  cheerfulness, 
and  tender  foot-fall,  that  told  their  little  hearts  had 
saddened  comprehension  of  the  change.  Mourning 
parishioners  came  in  groups  to  look  on  that  dear 
pastor's  tranquil  face,  —  on  that  pale  brow,  still 
noble  in  its  amplitude. 

When  the  hour  arrived  to  prepare  for  burial  that 
lifeless  form,  no  stranger-hands  were  permitted  to 
share  the  service  ;  but  only  those  to  whom  in  life 
it  had  been  dearest  now  took  part  in  this  last  sad 
office.  With  tenderest  care,  they  wrapped  it  in  the 
folds  of  that  same  silken  robe  in  which  he  always 
stood  before  his  people,  now,  alas  !  in  preparation 
for  that  silent  service  in  which  he  was  to  appear 
before  them.  Placed  in  easy  guise  upon  a  simple 
lounge,  the  burial-case  received  within  its  snowy 
folds  that  gentle  form.  Sympathizing  friends  from 
his  own  and  distant  cities  sent  fresh,  fragrant  flowers 
he  loved  so  well ;  and  these  were  placed  upon  his 
breast  and  pillow.  And  there  he  lay,  well-nigh 


DEPARTURE   FROM    EARTH. 

as  lovely  and  attractive  as  in  life.  The  children,  as 
they  came  around,  involuntarily  exclaimed,  "How 
beautifully  father  looks  ! " 

And  thus  was  carried  out  his  own  idea,  that,  even 
in  the  house  of  deepest  mourning,  cheering  symbols 
should  bear  witness  that  life  goes  not  out  in  eternal 
darkness. 

One  by  one,  there  gathered  to  this  scene  of  sor 
row  —  but  all  too  late  for  even  a  parting  recognition 
—  each  living  member  of  his  childhood's  home, 
save  the  devoted  mother,  whose  feeble  health  pre 
cluded  so  long  a  journey  at  that  inclement  season. 

The  time  fixed  for  the  solemn  obsequies  was  the 
sabbath  morning,  the  hour  on  which  he  was  always 
seen  quitting  his  home,  and  so  meekly  wending  his 
way  to  minister  to  his  people.  But  now,  after  brief, 
fitting  service,  that  unconscious  form  was  borne 
along  the  avenue  of  pines  and  cedars  which  had 
grown  up  amid  his  companionship,  adown  the  gravel 
walk  familiar  with  his  footstep,  and  through  the  gate 
of  that  tasteful,  rustic  fence  enclosing  his  domicil,  — 
the  last  work  for  its  improvement  he  ever  planned. 
The  most  ethereal  of  snow-flakes,  at  this  moment, 
began  slowly  and  solemnly  to  fall,  on  all  its  way  to 
the  house  of  God,  curtaining  around  that  funeral 
carriage  with  an  emblem  of  heaven's  own  purity. 
At  church,  the  profusion  of  Christmas  greens  still 
lent  their  decoration  in  strange  yet  pleasing  contrast 
with  the  black  drapery  that  had  everywhere  been 
blended.  In  front  of  that  hallowed  desk  there  hung 
a  cedarn  cross,  that  favorite  sign ;  and  the  commu 
nion-table  beneath  received  its  precious  burden. 


DEPARTURE  FROM  EARTH.         525 

Immediately  around  were  grouped  the  children  of 
the  sabbath-school.  The  church  was  densely  filled, 
all  denominations  testifying  to  the  value  of  the 
man,  the  citizen-,  and  the  stillness  felt  telling  how 
deep  the  sense  of  loss.  In  touching  tones,  and  with 
tender  manner,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Waterston  performed 
the  funeral  service,  and,  in  beautiful  yet  discrimi 
nating  remarks,  showed  forth  his  appreciation  of  his 
early  friend.  The  choir  chanted  in  plaintive  notes 
those  stanzas  sung  by  the  children  in  "  Philo  :  "  — 

"A   SONG  THEIR  PASTOR  TEACHES  THEM. 

"  0  Love  of  God  !  we  seek  to  dwell 

In  love  and  God  and  thee; 
The  end  of  woes,  the  end  of  sins, 
Shall  love's  perfection  be. 

"  0  Crucified  !  we  share  thy  cross ; 

Thy  passion,  too,  sustain; 
We  die  thy  death,  to  live  thy  life, 
And  rise  with  thee  again. 

"  0  Glorified  !  thy  glory  breaks ; 

Our  new-born  spirits  sing; 
Salvation  cometh  with  the  morn; 
Hope  spreads  an  heavenward  wing." 

And  then,  with  bearers  from  the  different  churches 
of  the  city,  the  mournful  train,  augmented  by  a  long 
procession,  recrossed  the  river  beneath  the  arches  of 
that  old  bridge  so  humorously  set  forth  in  "  Richard 
Edney,"  and  moved  onward  to  that  beautifully  se 
cluded  family-tomb  to  which  the  pale  sleeper's  first 
rural  excursion  on  the  eastern  bank  of  the  river 
had  been  made.  Gathered  beneath  the  funereal  firs 
around,  the  mourning  congregation  and  afflicted  re 
latives  took  their  last,  sad,  parting  look  at  that  dear 


526          DEPARTURE  FROM  EARTH. 

face.  At  that  moment,  the  clouds,  which  all  day 
till  then  had  shrouded  the  heavens,  suddenly  parted, 
and  bright  rays  of  sunlight,  penetrating  that  open 
vault,  illuminated  its  dark,  mouldering  depths ; 
or,  —  to  close  this  history,  penned  with  love,  de 
light,  and  sorrow,  mingled  in  varying  hues,  in  his 
own  beautiful  words,  descriptive  of  a  like  occasion, 
and  striking  in  their  coincidence  with  the  present 
scene,  — 

"  As  the  relics  were  conveyed  into  the  tomb,  the 
clouds  broke  away  in  the  heavens ;  a  bland  light 
diffused  itself  over  the  severities  of  the  season  ;  there 
seemed  something  of  bloom,  or  warmth  of  coloring, 
in  that  blue  break  of  the  skies.  How  fair  an  induc 
tion  to  the  final  rest !  " 


527 


IT  may  be  of  interest  to  some  readers  to  know  what  was 
the  fate,  among  Mr.  Judd's  own  people,  of  those  cherished 
views  for  which  he  so  earnestly  labored  during  the  last 
two  or  three  years  of  his  sojourn  with  them,  and  to  which, 
it  may  almost  be  said,  he  sacrificed  his  earthly  life. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  sabbath  whose  morning  hours 
had  been  consecrated  to  the  performance  of  the  last  sad 
duties  to  their  lamented  pastor,  his  bereaved  people  again 
gathered  in  sorrow  to  that  church  whose  walls  were 
never  again  to  resound  to  his  living  voice,  but  which  was 
still  alive  with  the  echoes  of  his  fervent  teachings  mingled 
with  those  of  the  mournful  service  which  had  there  just 
taken  place.  The  following  account  of  the  doings  of  this 
meeting  was  prepared  by  its  chairman,  Mr.  J.  Burton  :  — 

"  On  the  afternoon  of  Sunday,  January  30,  a  meeting  of  the 
Society  of  Christ  Church,  Augusta,  was  held  at  the  church,  for 
the  purpose  of  mutual  condolence  and  Christian  sympathy,  under 
their  heavy  affliction,  in  the  loss  of  their  beloved  pastor,  Rev.  Syl 
vester  Judd.  Devotional  exercises  were  conducted  by  Rev.  Mr. 
Waterston,  of  Boston,  who  had,  with  such  appropriate  eloquence, 
truthfulness,  and  justice  to  the  character  of  the  deceased,  so  accept 
ably  officiated  at  the  funeral  ceremonies  in  the  forenoon.  Remarks 
of  a  deeply  touching  and  solemn  character  were  made  by  Mr. 
"Waterston,  and  several  gentlemen  of  the  Society. 

"The  following  preamble  and  resolutions  were  presented  by  a 
committee  previously  appointed,  and  unanimously  adopted;  and 


528  SUPPLEMENTAL. 

copies  directed  to  be  transmitted  to  Mrs.  Judd,  and  furnished  for 
publication  in  our  city  papers,  and  in  the  "  Christian  Register," 
Boston,  and  "  Christian  Inquirer,"  New  York. 

"  «  WHEREAS,  in  the  mysterious  providence  of  God,  we  have  been 
called  upon  to  mourn  the  loss  of  our  beloved  pastor  and  friend,  in 
the  prime  of  his  life  and  in  the  midst  of  his  usefulness,  —  we,  the 
members  of  his  society,  deeply  sensible  of  our  loss,  and  living  wit 
nesses  of  his  worth,  of  his  untiring  devotion  to  the  great  interests 
of  Christianity,  and  of  his  benevolent  exertions  for  the  welfare  of  his 
race,  being  desirous  of  giving  a  public  expression  to  our  feelings, 
and  a  living  form  to  our  sentiments,  that  those  who  come  after  us 
may  learn  to  appreciate  his  real  character,  — 

"  '  Therefore,  unanimously  Resolved,  That,  in  the  decease  of  the 
Rev.  Sylvester  Judd,  his  society  have  lost  an  able  and  faithful 
teacher,  an  exemplary  Christian,  a  warm  and  devoted  friend,  an 
upright  citizen,  and  a  good  man. 

"  '  Resolved,  That  his  idea  of  a  Christian  church,  as  recently  pro 
mulgated,  and  for  the  establishment  of  which  his  best  energies  were 
expended,  is,  in  our  opinion,  the  embodiment  of  one  of  the  vital 
principles  of  Christianity,  and,  as  such,  demands  our  serious  con 
sideration. 

"  '  Resolved,  That  we  ought,  as  the  best  testimony  we  can  give  of 
our  appreciation  of  the  labors  and  teachings  of  our  lamented  pastor, 
to  carry  out  the  plans  which  he  had  matured  for  our  spiritual  good ; 
and,  to  this  end,  we  will  cause  the  paper  lately  drawn  up  by  him, 
embodying  what  he  regarded  as  the  true  idea  of  a  Christian  church, 
to  be  recorded  according  to  his  expressed  intention,  and  that  the 
names  of  his  parishioners  be  subscribed  thereto. 

"  '  Resolved,  That  we  tender  our  heartfelt  sympathy  to  the  widow 
and  other  relatives  of  the  deceased,  in  this  hour  of  their  deep  afflic 
tion,  and  recommend  the  religion  which  he  preached,  as  their  only 
effectual  source  of  consolation  and  support  under  this  great  bereave 
ment.' 

"  Some  lines  offered  by  a  lady  of  the  church  were  read  with  much 
feeling  by  Mr.  Waterston,  and  the  occasion  was  one  of  deep  and 
solemn  interest. 

"  The  work  which  it  was  the  ardent  wish  of  his  soul  to  consum 
mate  is  now  being  perfected  by  us  according  to  his  desire,  and  an 
answer  is  thus  accorded  to  his  many  prayers  to  that  effect. 

"  Attest,  J.  BURTON." 


SUPPLEMENTAL.  529 

In  the  blank-book  selected  by  Mr.  Judd  for  the  pur 
pose,  was  recorded,  as  above  resolved,  the  Declaration 
embracing  his  idea  of  a  true  Christian  church,  which, 
before  his  illness,  he  had  had  printed  on  single  sheets, 
and  circulated  among  all  his  people.  This  was  now 
offered  to  them  for  signature ;  and  it  was  affecting  to  see 
them,  almost  without  exception,  come  up  by  families,  and 
enroll  their  names,  parents  and  children,  as  born  under 
that  "  new  covenant "  established  by  Christ,  alike  subject 
to  its  obligations  and  entitled  to  all  its  privileges  ;  a  scene 
on  which  that  beatified  pastor  might  look  down  from  his 
glorified  sphere  of  new  existence  with  ecstatic  delight. 
Great  warmth  of  Christian  feeling  has  since  prevailed  in 
Christ  Church ;  and  active  energy  has  been  displayed, 
not  only  in  establishing  Mr.  Judd's  views  among  them 
selves,  but  in  making  their  value,  as  witnessed  by  their 
own  experience,  known  and  appreciated  by  the  entire 
Unitarian  body.  Together  with  his  more  immediately 
responsible  family-friends,  they  have  felt  it  a  sacred  trust 
left  in  their  hands  to  see  that  views  deemed  by  him  of  so 
vital  importance  to  the  welfare,  if  not,  indeed,  to  the 
permanence,  of  the  Christian  church,  should  be  submitted 
to  the  consideration  of  the  public ;  an  end  which  has  been 
secured  by  the  efficient  exertions  of  Joseph  H.  Williams, 
Esq.,  a  pai-ishioner  and  brother-in-law  of  Mr.  Judd,  in  the 
publication,  under  the  title  of  "  The  Birthright  Church," 
of  the  discourse  prepared  for  the  Thursday  Lecture,  and 
also  of  a  volume  of  sermons  relating  to  the  same  subject, 
entitled  "  The  Church."  Not  only  have  they  testified 
their  conviction  of  the  worth  of  Mr.  Judd's  teachings,  but 
they  have  also  evinced  their  high  appreciation  of  bis 
genius  as  a  preacher,  by  the  fact,  that,  a  great  part  of  the 
time  since  his  removal,  they  have  desired  nothing  better, 
in  their  public  sabbath  services,  than  to  listen  to  the 
reading  of  manuscript  sermons  which  he  had  perhaps 

45 


530  SUPPLEMENTAL. 

more  than  once  delivered  in  their  hearing ;  a  rare  in 
stance,  it  is  believed,  of  the  life-giving  elements  embodied 
in  the  common  round  of  weekly  discourses. 

It  may,  perhaps,  not  improperly  be  added,  that  the 
sense  of  loss  occasioned  by  Mr.  Judd's  removal  was  not 
limited  to  his  own  people  and  his  own  particular  friends. 
It  drew  forth  expressions  of  regret  extensively  from  the 
public  prints  ;  and  several  discourses  with  reference  to  it 
were  delivered  the  following  sabbath.  The  Rev.  Dr. 
Gannett,  in  a  sermon  preached  in  Bangor,  alluding  to  the 
event,  paid  the  following  kindly  tribute  to  Mr.  Judd :  "  If 
the  loss  were  confined  to  that  sister-church  in  Augusta,  it 
would  be  a  fit  occasion  for  us  to  remember  the  counsel 
which  directs  us  '  to  weep  with  those  that  weep.'  But  the 
church  to  which  our  friend  sustained  the  relation  of  pastor 
are  not  the  only  mourners  who  feel  a  sense  of  personal 
bereavement.  From  one  and  another  I  hear  the  excla 
mation,  '  His  death  is  a  loss  to  the  whole  State.'  Let  me 
give  to  the  conviction  that  prompts  these  words  a  still 
wider  reach.  His  death  is  a  loss  to  the  whole  country ; 
for,  by  his  writings  and  his  character,  he  has  made 
himself  known  far  beyond  the  sphere  of  his  personal 
influence.  Even  in  European  countries,  an  American 
literature  would  be  incomplete  which  did  not  notice  his 
works." 

On  the  May-day  succeeding  Mr.  Judd's  departure,  the 
lambs  of  the  church,  as  they  had  been  for  so  many  years 
in  the  habit  of  doing,  assembled  in  the  morning  around 
Christ  Church  Parsonage ;  but  the  accustomed  shepherd 
was  not  there  to  conduct  them  forth  over  the  green  hills, 
and  amid  the  forest-shade.  Yet  did  another  kind  leader 
attend  them ;  and,  in  their  ramble,  they  twined  green 
wreaths,  with  which  they  approached  the  pastor's  resting- 
place,  and  garlanded  his  tomb  with  these  fit  emblems 
of  immortality;  thus  unconsciously  responding  to  these 


SUPPLEMENTAL.  5  3 1 

words,  incidentally  let  fall  in  one  of  his  earlier  discourses 
to  his  people  :  — 

"  I  sometimes  ask  myself  the  question,  If  I  were  to  die 
to-day,  should  I,  too,  be  forgotten  to-morrow?  Am  I 
enriching  no  soul  with  those  treasures  of  goodness  which 
form  the  only  desirable  memorial  ?  Am  I  leading  no  one 
in  the  path  to  heaven,  so  that  my  guiding  hand  will  not 
be  missed  when  I  am  gone  ?  Am  I  creating  life  and  joy, 
beauty  and  purity,  in  no  one's  heart  and  life,  so  that  no 
one  would  regret  my  absence  ?  Shall  the  summer  air 
visit  my  grave,  and  will  not  you  ?  " 

It  was  ever  a  matter  of  sentiment  with  Mr.  Judd,  that 
our  mother-earth  should  receive  into  her  very  bosom  the 
remnant  of  mortality  left  behind,  so  that,  above  the  che 
rished  form  so  closely  connected  with  our  identity,  the 
grass  might  green,  flowers  bloom  and  diffuse  their  fra 
grance  on  the  gentle  breeze ;  that  birds  might  warble  forth 
their  gushing  songs  from  waving,  impendent  branches  ; 
that  all  the  kindly  and  suggestive  ministries  of  nature 
might  serve  to  soothe  and  cheer  fond  friends  who  should 
gather  there,  and  divest  of  gloom  the  little  mound  of  earth 
indicating  that  henceforth  the  "  corruptible  has  put  on 
incorruption."  Particular  circumstances  have  as  yet  pre 
vented  such  sepulture ;  but  it  is  designed  that,  at  an  early 
day,  this  pleasing  idea  shall  be  consummated,  and  that  a 
symbolic  monument,  bearing  appropriate  emblems,  shall 
mark  the  spot. 


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